


Year 5: Dangers and Dark Magic

by Arinus



Series: Calista Snape [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Complete, Dark Magic, Dreams and Nightmares, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Legilimency, Legilimens, Mentor Severus Snape, Nightmares, Occlumency, Parent Severus Snape, Parent-Child Relationship, Peer Pressure, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quirrelmort, Recovery, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 21:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 71,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15693618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arinus/pseuds/Arinus
Summary: Snape's Daughter / Calista Snape series.What begins as an optimistic year for Calista Snape quickly threatens to spiral out of her control, amid the backdrop of ever-darker dreams and a startling breakthrough during her Occlumency lessons that leads Severus to push her further than ever before.Her father tells her there is danger lurking in the castle, but can't or won't tell her where to look for it. Draco won't stop asking Calista to use her leverage with Marcus Flint to get him on the Quidditch team, and Marcus wants things from Calista that she's not ready for. An incident with Professor Quirrell threatens to destroy not only Calista's friendships, but the way she thinks of herself; and to top it all off, she can't stand her partner for Prefect Patrols.Calista's fifth year culminates in a series of terrifying realisations that may only be hints of horrors to come; and suddenly, her mother's influence isn't the only thing she needs to protect her mind against.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU, because of addition of Severus' OC daughter, but almost completely canon-compliant other than that.  
> All canon characters are in character, including a believable, but still canon-compliant, Severus-as-a-father/Mentor!Severus
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> Flashbacks/references to child abuse (physical/magical), dark magic rituals. PTSD. Necessary for plot, no more graphic descriptions than needed. There IS recovery/redemption.

Calista Snape stepped onto the Hogwarts express, feeling possibly more excited to start a new term than she ever had before. She had been writing to her friends over the summer, and learned, to her delight, that Percy and Penny had also made Prefect. Her father told her that Derek Logan was the other Slytherin Prefect; she wasn't certain how she felt about  _that_ , but in light of everything else, how could it possibly be that bad?

On top of that, she was excited to be in her fifth year, so she could earn O.W.L.s. She vowed internally to study harder this year than she ever had before. She wanted to achieve an O.W.L in every subject she was taking; if she could, she wanted to be able to move into the N.E.W.T. level classes next year for all of her subjects as well.

There was Marcus to be thrilled about, too; not only was this the first year that they were allowed, from the beginning, to be dating openly, but he would be in some of her classes this year, too. She felt badly that he needed to repeat some of his O.W.L. classes, but now she could help him, and they'd get to spend more time together.

She had all of these thoughts in her mind as she traversed the main aisle of the train, peering into each of the compartments, looking for her friends. Finally, she spotted Amelia, sitting by herself in a compartment near the rear of the train.

"Hey!" Calista greeted her brightly, but Amelia only scowled.

"Oh," she said, " _You_. Come to gloat, like Penny and Percy did?"

"Huh? No…"

"I can't believe," Amelia said, in long-aggrieved tones, "That all  _three_  of you were made Prefect. Now I have to sit here by myself - and I'm sure it will be like this all year, and the next year, and the next. The three of you going off for special  _Prefect_  things, while I'm left to… to hang out with first years like a desperate loner, or something."

"Well, since I have to show them around the castle, I suppose it's  _me_  that will be hanging around with first years. And you're wrong, I'm not going to leave you behind… I came back here to sit with you."

"Well, you can't," Amelia said, and her face was still stony, "You're meant to go up front with the Prefects. Percy made sure to tell me you lot have to attend a special,  _important_ , Prefects-only meeting."

"Oh," Calista said, slowly. "I… I guess I forgot about that. I'll be back though, after the meeting - I promise."

"Hmph," Amelia said, but Calista saw her soften, slightly. "You'd better come back."

As if to prove she was coming back, Calista left her things in Amelia's compartment, and took off back the way she'd come, with only her wand, slipped into the pocket of her robes. She adjusted the Prefect's badge on the front of her robes before she entered the front compartment.

The meeting was already going on when she arrived.

"You're late," Percy admonished, disapprovingly, and it took nearly all of her willpower not to roll her eyes or stick her tongue out at him.

"As I was saying," Alex Jordan, a seventh-year Gryffindor and, as evidenced by the badge on his robes, this year's Head Boy, flicked a glance at Calista as she slid the compartment door shut behind her. "You'll all meet with your Head of House tomorrow to receive your assigned corridor patrol routes, and further details on what's expected of you as Prefects. For this evening, your job is to welcome the new students, especially those assigned to your own House, and you will also lead the new first-years from your House to your common rooms and give them the password."

Penny's hand rose, tentatively.

Ella Parsimmon, Head Girl and seventh-year Hufflepuff who was standing next to Alex, placed a hand on Alex's elbow, and he paused his speech. Ella nodded to Penny, indicating she could ask her question.

"Excuse me, but when do we learn our common room password, to tell the other students?"

"The seventh-year Prefects in your House have the first password. They'll tell you at the end of this meeting," Ella explained, "After that, you'll meet once a month with your Head of House, and be given the next password then."

Penny nodded. "Thank you."

Alex glanced around the crowded compartment, and began speaking again. "Yes, as Ella said, you'll meet with your Head of House once a month. There is also a monthly meeting for all of the Prefects from all of the Houses, led by myself and Ella. We'll hand you out a timetable for these meetings, but generally, they'll be held Saturday mornings, and attendance is mandatory."

Calista felt a sharp pang of worry; her Occlumency lessons were always on Saturday mornings.

"How long is the meeting?" Calista asked, as Ella passed around the schedule, "And what time is it?"

"We'll try for 10:00 AM," Ella said, handing Calista the schedule, "But keep an eye on this; if we need to change the time one week, it will automatically update on this timetable. We try to keep the meetings under an hour, unless there's something important to discuss."

Ten in the morning. Usually, she met her father for three hours of Occlumency at nine. The Prefect meeting meant that once a month, she wouldn't be able to meet with him until eleven or later, which would take her Occlumency lesson at least until two o'clock. Well, there went a quarter of her Saturdays. She suppressed an inward groan.

"Being chosen as Prefect is not just a later curfew and access to a nice bathroom," Alex said sternly. "You have additional responsibilities and commitments. If you feel that you will be unable to meet them, I suggest you speak with your Head of House at on-"

He at least had the grace to make eye contact with each of the new fifth-year Prefects in turn, but he paused when his eyes landed on Calista.

"Well, I guess that will be easy for you, eh?" he said, and his tone, while not exactly hostile, certainly wasn't friendly. He chuckled.

Most of the rest of the Prefects followed his gaze; Calista felt her cheeks flush. "Yes," she said, because there was no point in pretending she didn't knew what he meant, "Yes, I suppose it would be, but I  _don't_  have any intention on quitting."

Alex nodded. "That's well, then," he said, as if he didn't care one way or the other. "Now, all of you should understand - fifth years especially, but it can't hurt to remind the rest of you - you must not abuse your position. You will have the authority to dock House points from students in your own House, and you are expected to do so your housemates' behaviour warrants it."

"Can we dock points from other Houses?" Derek Logan asked, loudly.

Ella frowned, and shook her head. "No. You can give detentions to students in any House, but you mustn't abuse that."

Calista hid a grin. She'd be able to assign detentions… well, that could certainly help her defend Daisy and her friends, now, couldn't it?

"Do the students serve detentions with us, or with their Heads of House?" a fifth-year Hufflepuff, Helen Abbott, asked.

A couple of the older Prefects sniggered, and Helen blushed.

"With the Head of House," Ella supplied, "You'll be given a timetable by your Head of House showing times where a detention can be assigned."

"Imagine if we  _could_ give detentions that had to be served with us, though," Gerald Boot said, wistful. "I'd have Marcus Flint doing my laundry all year."

"Hey!" Calista said, glaring in his direction, but the laughter of all but the Slytherin Prefects nearly drowned her out.

"Sure he wouldn't muck it up? Seems like hard work for a troll," another Ravenclaw Prefect sniped. Most of the Prefects laughed again; Calista was enraged to see that Percy was among them, though he seemed to be doing his best to stifle it.

"That's enough," Ella said, frowning. "Remember, you're meant to set an  _example_  for the other students, yes? You know that, Gerry."

"Yeah, yeah," Gerald said, waving his hand. He glanced at Calista, who gave him as icy a glare as she could muster; he looked hastily away, and at least had the grace to lower his head slightly.

Calista wondered, darkly, if she could assign detention to other Prefects.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

True to her word, Calista had returned to Amelia's compartment after the meeting was over, though Penny and Percy had both elected to remain behind. Actually, as far as she could tell, she was the  _only_  one who left after the meeting, but she had promised Amelia. Besides, she rather thought she might hex Gerald Boot if she stayed behind, and  _that_  would be a fine example to set on her first day as Prefect.

Marcus had come to find her shortly after she'd returned; where she had a Prefect badge, he had the Quidditch Captain's badge fastened to his own robes.

"So, Prefect, huh?" Marcus said, by way of greeting, from the doorway of the compartment. "Think you could throw the whole Gryffindor Quidditch team in detentions the day of the first match?"

"You know I can't," Calista said, "And besides… you don't need them in detention. You'll beat them anyway, just like last year."

Marcus glowed. "That's true," he said, "Still, it would be pretty funny."

"Hey, Marcus," someone said, from the corridor, "How was your summer?"

"Not bad," Marcus was saying. Calista peered beyond him to see who was out there. It was Derek Logan; ah, evidently she  _hadn't_  been the only one to leave the Prefects' compartment after the meeting, then.

"So, Derek," Marcus joked, " _You_  can throw the Gryffindor team in detention before the match, since Calista won't."

"Of course she won't-" Derek started, but he was interrupted by Amelia, clearing her throat loudly.

"You know," she said, "You can both come  _in_  here if you want. Calista and I won't bite - well, Calista might bite Marcus, but that's an entirely different matter-"

"Hey!" Calista said, while Marcus laughed, and he and Derek both stepped into the compartment.

"Hey," Derek said, shortly, nodding to Amelia.

"Hey," Amelia repeated, in a perfect imitation. Calista stifled a grin.

"Hey," Marcus said, with a goofy grin. "Oh, I thought that's what we were all saying, now."

For the rest of the train ride, Marcus and Derek mostly talked about Quidditch, while Calista and Amelia discussed their classes and perhaps a few hexes. Amelia raised the possibility of suggesting a dueling club again, but Flitwick had more or less shot it down when Penny and Calista had asked before, so Calista didn't have high hopes that it would pan out.

When they got off the train, Calista and Amelia climbed into a carriage, and Marcus and Derek followed, still nattering on about Quidditch plays. Derek had joined the team last year as Chaser after some of the team had graduated, though Calista privately thought he wasn't nearly as good as Marcus.

"So, if all of my friends are Prefects and I'm not," Amelia said, "There's got to be some kind of benefit, right? Can you get me a pass to be out in the corridors later, or something?"

"Erm," Calista said, "i'm not sure. Maybe, if it's for studying. I can ask my dad if it's allowed."

At this, Derek glanced over at her, and rolled his eyes.

Calista narrowed hers. "What?"

"Nothing," Derek said, in a tone that implied anything but.

"No, go on, what was that look for?" she challenged.

"It's just," Derek said, "I wouldn't keep mentioning your dad around other Slytherins, is all. I mean, since a lot of us figure he's the only reason you were chosen as Prefect instead of Olivia."

"That's rubbish," Amelia said, before Calista could even open her mouth, "Calista was picked because Olivia's a spoiled, nasty cow."

"Are you even in fifth year Transfiguration this year?" Derek challenged, meeting Calista's angry gaze steadfastly.

Marcus frowned. "Hey…" he said, quietly. He looked distinctly uncomfortable.

" _Yes_ ," Calista hissed, through clenched teeth. "I am."

"Well, that figures," Derek continued, "Olivia must be right; she reckoned your dad was able to fix your scores for you. Must be nice…"

"Hey," Marcus said, a little more loudly this time, "Stop it, both of you. We're all in the same House, remember? Well - most of us," he seemed to remember for the first time that Amelia was with them.

"Excuse me?" Calista spat, turning her glare towards her boyfriend, " _Both_  of us? I'm not the one causing problems."

"No, that's all right," Derek said, but there wasn't much fight left in his tone. "Go on and take your girlfriend's side, I know you want to."

"Well," Marcus replied, uncertainly, "You are being a bit of a prat, mate."

"Yeah, whatever," Derek said, and slumped in his seat, staring out the window.

"Hey," Marcus said, after a minute, "Calista, can you wait for a minute when the carriages stop? I want to tell you something."

"I… I guess." She frowned, still a bit agitated from her argument with Derek.

Amelia chuckled. "Sure.  _Tell_  her something, that's what you want to do…"

Calista scowled, but Marcus, maddeningly, only grinned sheepishly.

When their carriage unloaded, Calista followed Marcus a slight distance away from the crowd of students greeting each other, and meeting up with students that had ridden in on other carriages. It was just as well; she'd caught a glimpse of Olivia, and wanted to delay actually having to deal with her for as long as possible.

"So…" Marcus said, ducking behind one of the empty carriages and pulling her along by the hand, "I actually  _do_  have something to tell you."

"The team," Calista guessed, "You're allowed to stay on as Captain?"

"Yeah, I am," Marcus said, "Got a letter last week from Dumbledore. I have to stay on track to pass all my classes, and I can't drop any more of them -"

"Hang on, what did you drop?"

"A few," he said, "But, Calista, that's not what I wanted to tell you -"

"You didn't drop Potions, did you?

"No. Now, would you  _listen?_ Have they told you about the Prefects bathroom yet?"

"I think Alex Jordan mentioned it on the train," Calista frowned. "Why?"

"Well, it's really nice," Marcus said, "There's a huge bathtub, the size of a pool, with about a hundred different kinds of bubbles and things you can use -"

"Wait.  _You're_  not a Prefect. How do you know that?"

"Well, that's what I'm trying to tell you," Marcus said, with a triumphant grin, "It's not just for Prefects. Quidditch Captains get to use it, too."

"Oh," Calista said, "That's… erm, that's nice, I guess." Why was he telling her this? "You can… you and Derek can hang out, I guess."

Marcus laughed. "I don't think you understand," he said, "The Prefects' bathroom… Calista, there's just one. Not one for girls, and one for boys. Just. One."

Her eyes went wide, and her mouth opened, as what he was saying finally  _clicked_.

"Oh!"

"Yeah," Marcus said, grin turning sly as he slid his arm around her waist. " _Oh,_ " he mimicked, good-naturedly, leaning in to kiss her.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista watched the line of first years being sorted anxiously. She clapped for each of the new Slytherins, and welcomed them when they came to sit at the Slytherin table, but when the middle of the alphabet approached, she sat up straighter. Ah, finally.

"Malfoy, Draco!"

She wasn't sure if he looked towards the House table as he strutted up to the stool, but she aimed an encouraging smile his way just in case.

She didn't have long to wait; " _SLYTHERIN!_ " shouted the hat, almost immediately. Draco grinned, and practically  _scurried_  over to the Slytherin table. Calista saw, from the corner of her eye, that her father was clapping heartily.

"Well done, Draco," Calista said, sliding a little closer to Eva to make room for him next to his friend, Vincent, who had also been sorted into Slytherin. Another boy whom Draco seemed to have met on the train, Gregory Goyle, sat on Vincent's other side.

"This is excellent," Draco said, while Calista clapped for Pansy Parkinson, who had just become a Slytherin as well. "If you're Prefect, that means I can do whatever I want - ooh, here comes Potter, that slimy git."

"Potter - you mean,  _Harry_  Potter?" Calista asked, just as McGonagall confirmed it for all in the Great Hall to hear,

"Potter, Harry!"

Of course she'd grown up hearing his name; every child in the wizarding world had. Curiously, she'd almost never heard it from her father, but other professors had mentioned him often enough, and students had been speculating which House he'd end up in for  _years_. She'd forgotten that he was the same age as Draco.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat yelled, and Draco hissed, eyes narrowed. He was far from the only one at the table to do so.

Over at the Gryffindor table, cheers and hollers had erupted as the small, black-haired boy made his way over to them.

Calista blinked.  _This_  was the famous Boy-Who-Lived? He was small, and skinny, with round glasses and messy hair. In short, he looked perfectly ordinary, except for the lightning-bolt shaped scar she could just barely see on his forehead from this distance. What's more, even she could see that he was shaking and he looked decidedly queasy.

"He's a bloody git," Draco was telling her, "I met him in Diagon Alley over the summer, and again on the train."

"He looks like a good wind would knock him flat," Calista responded, "How did  _he_  survive the Dark Lord's curse?"

Draco laughed coldly, a perfect imitation of his father.

Slytherin received a few more members, and yet another of Percy's brothers was sorted into Gryffindor; she heard her little cousin boo and hiss him as well, and she frowned, but didn't correct him. After all, once again, he was not the only one.

Later, after they had all eaten their fill at the feast, Calista stood to help herd the first years together and in the direction of their dungeon common room. On the way, she bumped into Olivia, and  _damn it_ , she was fifteen years old, would she  _ever_  stop flinching when someone touched her unexpectedly?

" _You_." Olivia hissed, pretty blue eyes narrowing. If anything, Olivia had grown even prettier over the summer. Calista imagined that she looked like a skinny, awkward little troll in comparison, but pushed the thought away. "I suppose you think you're special, now that you're a bloody  _Prefect_?"

"No," Calista said coldly, "You know what I  _do_  think, though? I think you'd better keep your bloody mouth  _shut_  this year, and keep your nasty friends in line, too. Or  _I will_."

"Don't threaten me," Olivia said, darkly, "Or I'll-"

"Or you'll  _what_ , Olivia?" Calista countered, keeping her voice low; there were first years around, after all. "Give me detention? Take House points from me? Oh, wait - no, those are things I can do to  _you_."

"Oh, yes, go ahead and take away House points," Olivia said, deliberately raising her voice, which was now positively dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sure that will make everyone else in Slytherin just  _love_  you. More than they already do, of course…"

Calista flushed, and opened her mouth, to protest that wasn't  _exactly_  what she'd said, but another voice cut across their conversation, loud and firm.

"Shut it, Avril."

Calista blinked; startled to see who had spoken up. Evidently, Olivia was also startled enough to actually do just that, for once.

"Finally," George Spratt continued, and then, as if it were the most normal thing in the world for him to stand up to Olivia, "What's the password, then?"

"Oh," Calista said, realising they'd reached the common room, "Uhm, it's 'Ptolemy'."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista's timetable, for the first time since her first year, didn't contain Remedial Transfiguration, though McGonagall  _had_  advised her to continue her tutoring sessions with Percy. Her Occlumency lessons were again blocked off on Saturdays from nine to twelve, as 'Elective Studies'. She'd have to speak to her father about that. Perhaps he didn't know about the monthly all-Prefect meetings yet.

Actually, Calista wondered just how much he  _did_  know about being a Prefect; as Head of House, she'd assumed he'd know everything, but there was the timetable situation, and, if what Marcus had told her about the Prefect bathroom was true, there was  _no way_  he knew about that. Surely, he'd never have nominated her, or else he'd have ensured Marcus was removed as Quidditch Captain, if he realised.

Though, she supposed, it didn't just have to be about Marcus. She was reasonably certain that if Severus realised Calista could use the Prefects' bathroom at the same time as  _any_  boy, he'd never have let her be selected.

To her utter amazement, however, it appeared that Severus  _did_  know about the Prefects' bathroom; in the meeting he held with the Slytherin Prefects on the second morning of term, he'd described its location.

He also assigned their corridor patrol routes; Calista ended up with the section of the dungeons nearest the Potions classroom, as well as the corridors around the library, which she suspected strongly Severus had given her deliberately, knowing she'd like those routes.

She stayed behind after the meeting, to let him know about the Prefect meetings on Saturdays, but it appeared he already knew about that, as well.

"I think," Severus said, "That, with the added responsibility of being a Prefect, you've got quite a bit on your plate this year. It was my thought, if you're amenable, that we can skip Occlumency lessons on the mornings that you have Prefect meetings."

"What -  _really_? Skip Occlumency lessons?"

"Mm. Something else. I think, perhaps, it is time for us to place a stronger focus on Legilimency during your lessons. It seems you've developed something of a talent for it, and I want to ensure you're learning the proper techniques."

Calista glowed; there was more than one reason why it pleased her to hear her father say that she was getting on well in Occlumency.

"I… maybe I'll come after my meetings, sometimes," she offered, "I do  _really_  want to learn more Legilimency."

"Naturally," Severus said, "You must continue to keep your barriers intact and your mind guarded at all times while we practice. It will not be easy."

"Was it ever supposed to be?" she wondered, because she had never found it so.

"Ah, I think I recall telling you, many years ago, that mastering the mental arts would never be  _easy_ , only  _possible_."

"Yeah," Calista agreed, "You might've mentioned that. Anyway, I've got Charms - I should go."

Severus nodded, and waved her towards his office door.

Later, when Calista reflected that, not only had he nominated her for Prefect knowing it meant that she'd be able to share a bathroom with Marcus, but he'd also described the location of said bathroom to the group of Prefects in a completely normal tone, she realised that Marcus must be wrong about what the bathroom was like.

Perhaps, she thought, it was charmed so that boys and girls couldn't be in there  _together_. Or, perhaps - Marcus had said the tub was the size of a swimming pool, hadn't he? - Perhaps it really  _was_  a swimming pool, and not a bathtub at all. She supposed that must be it. She'd have to take a look later to confirm, but that made more sense than anything else she could imagine.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

If she'd hoped Transfiguration would be easier this year, she was sorely mistaken; she struggled to keep up from week to week, and it soon became clear that there was no avoiding McGonagall's advice to keep studying with Percy, even if he seemed to have grown, if it were possible, even more sanctimonious when it came to tutoring her.

As it turned out, Marcus had dropped Transfiguration and wasn't taking it over, so she didn't have him available as a study partner anymore.

He was retaking Potions, Charms, and Defence Against the Dark Arts at the O.W.L. level, though, so that meant he was in Calista's class. She was glad for it in Charms and Defence; however, she soon realised that he'd been right about the potential awkwardness of sharing a Potions class when her father was the professor.

They'd sat together the first week, but Severus' frequent walks past their cauldrons, and the small frown he aimed at them when he caught Marcus whispering something to her during class - nevermind that he was actually only asking for help with his Potion - were enough to convince them to leave a few seats between them.

Still, she kept her word, and studied with him outside of class. It turned out, though, that it wasn't only Potions he needed her help in. He was behind in Charms as well, and even though he had scored an 'Acceptable' in Defence Against the Dark Arts last year, she'd had to explain a few concepts to him there, as well.

If she hadn't been so keen on the subject of Defence, she might have asked for permission to drop the class early, a few weeks in. It wasn't the subject matter, or the glares that Olivia levelled at her from across the classroom; no, it was something completely unexpected, and decidedly unnerving.

Professor Quirrell, who had replaced Professor Thatch as the Defence teacher, was … well, there was no other word for it, Calista thought, he was  _creepy_. But - oddly - it didn't seem that he was that way towards  _everyone_. In fact, as far as she could see… well, it was only towards  _her._

"Hm. Calista…," he'd said on the first day, drawing her name out. This in itself was immediately odd; he hadn't called anyone else by their first name.

"...Snape?" he added, slowly, almost questioning, as if the short name was difficult to pronounce.

"What?" she'd snapped, before realising that this  _was_  a Professor she was speaking to. "Er, I mean, yes, Professor?"

He'd smiled, beneath his odd purple turban, and something about it had set her on edge.

Nevertheless, "Welcome to class," was all he'd added before moving on to the next name.

She'd almost convinced herself that she'd imagined it, but then, in the first few weeks of term, she swore she'd caught him in class, just  _watching_  her, curiously.

She was reminded of her cat, Yellow; the narrow-eyed, attentive look he got when he was listening to the scurrying of a mouse, to determine which hidey-hole it was about to come out of.

In this case, she supposed, she felt like the mouse. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.


	2. Chapter 2

"Calista, I need your help with something," Draco said, slipping into the chair opposite hers. She marked her page in her Arithmancy text, and looked up, expectantly.

"What is it, Draco?"

"I need you to talk to Marcus. Ask him to let me on the Quidditch team."

She blinked. "There aren't any openings. The team's full."

He rolled his eyes. "Well I know  _that_ , Calista, or I wouldn't need to ask you to talk to him for me."

"What do you expect him to do?" she asked, "Kick someone else off the team?"

"Well, yes," Draco drawled matter-of-factly, "That's exactly what I expect."

"Draco, he can't do that. I can't ask him to do that."

He sighed impatiently, and rolled his eyes. "Calista, of course  _you_  can ask him. He'll do whatever you want."

"That's not -" she sputtered, then shook her head, composing herself quickly. "That's not true."

"Of course it is," Draco said, suddenly sly, "You'll just have to - to kiss him or something - it'll be  _easy_ , just try it."

"Draco," she said, firmly, "I absolutely will  _not_  manipulate Marcus into putting you on the Quidditch team. If you want me to ask him to let you try out for Reserve Seeker, I can -"

"I already  _did_  try out," Draco whined, "He didn't take  _any_  of the first years seriously. And besides…"

He let out a heavy sigh, and leaned closer to her, across the table. "There's… there's something I didn't want to tell you…"

"What?"

"It's just… you know Potter made it on the Gryffindor team, right?"

"Yeeesss," she said slowly, beginning to lose her patience. So what if Harry Potter had gotten on his House's team? That didn't change Calista's mind about what Draco was asking.

"Well," Draco confided, "He's just been horrible to me about it, always rubbing it in my face that he's on the team and I'm not."

"Draco," she said, more gently now, "I'm sorry, but there's really nothing I can do."

"You don't understand," he said, and he wiped a hand under his eye, though Calista didn't see any moisture there, saw no telltale glitter of a teardrop. "Potter's been been bullying me since the start of term. He even threatened to curse me unless I met him for a duel after hours."

"He did? What happened?"

"Well, I was… I was scared," Draco said, quietly, "I didn't want to duel him, there's no way he'd play fair - he'd probably bring that wretched Weasley and the Mudblood with him-"

Calista winced. "Draco, don't call people that."

Now it was Draco's turn to blink, puzzled. "Why not?" he asked, "It's what they are."

"I -" she'd been about to tell him she had Muggle-born friends, but then she recalled who his father was, and what he'd potentially have to say about that, if Draco reported back to him.

"I just don't think it's wise," she said instead, "It makes it sound like you're looking for trouble. Surely your parents have explained the concept of  _subtlety_  to you?"

"Evidently not," Draco said, dismissively. "Anyway, I was trying to tell you. Potter would gang up on me for sure, it wouldn't be a fair fight. And I don't want to get detention for being out in the corridors after hours either."

"Have you told my father?"

"No," Draco said, "The duel was meant to be last night, and at the last minute, I ran into Filch and told him about it."

"Well, that's good, I suppose," she said, but she couldn't help but wrinkle her nose in distaste at the mention of the crusty old caretaker. She shivered, remembering her own run-in with him during her first year.

"No," Draco said, "It isn't. Potter got away with the whole thing, just because he's Dumbledore's pet, and the ' _Boy Who Lived_ '".

Calista had to privately admit, she was impressed with the amount of scorn Draco managed to lace those three short words with. As a Prefect, however, she supposed she ought to hide that feeling.

"He gets away with  _everything_ , Calista. He's never going to be punished for bothering me, and now he gets to rub it in my face that he gets to play Quidditch and I don't."

Calista sighed. "Give me some time, Draco, all right? I'll… I'll think about it and see if there's anything I can do. In the meantime - if Potter gives you trouble, tell someone, all right? Tell me, or tell my father. Can you do that?"

Draco nodded, hesitating. "All… all right. I suppose I can do that. As long as Potter doesn't find out I ratted him out - I have a feeling that would only makes things worse."

Well, Calista understood  _that_  particular fear. Still, as much as she wanted to believe her cousin, she knew he could be manipulative - if she hadn't already known, it was evident in what he'd asked her to do. She had to learn more, find out how much truth there was in Draco's story, before she could decide what to do about it.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

"Some of you may have been assigned overlapping patrol routes," Alex Jordan was saying, to the assembled Prefects, "Usually around high-traffic areas. There's probably four or five of you assigned to the third floor, to make sure students stay away from the forbidden corridor. I suggest you compare patrol routes and get friendly with whomever shares yours. It helps to have a partner, especially in locations the first years always try to sneak into."

There were a few chuckles, then.

"Who has the library corridor?" Alex asked, and Calista raised her hand.

"Right, then," he said, nodding once to her, and tilting his chin, briefly towards the back of the room. "You two, pay special care for younger students coming around at odd hours. More and more of them have been trying to slip into the restricted section lately without a pass, and Madam Pince wants us to help stop them."

Calista turned her head, to see who else had library patrol - and groaned. It was Gerald Boot, the sixth-year Ravenclaw who had made the crack about Marcus on the train.

"Who has the Astronomy tower?" Alex continued, and Percy and Penny raised their hands, along with a Hufflepuff seventh-year.

 _Great,_ Calista thought sourly,  _Penny and Percy get to be together, and I've got to be with this bloody git._

"I'd advise you three to be extra vigilant in the evenings, right after dinner," Alex said, with a smirk, "Lots of  _romance_ going on in the tower, yeah?"

Calista joined the rest of the Prefects in laughter.

"I heard," came Derek Logan's voice suddenly, "There's an awful lot of that in the Owlery, too. Maybe we should have more patrols there."

Calista scowled, but no one really laughed. She supposed it had been long enough since the rumors of her and Marcus' meetings there had swirled through the school, enough of them may have forgotten. Either that, or nobody much liked Derek. After the way he'd acted on the coach to school, Calista secretly hoped for the latter.

There were a few other bits of housekeeping after that, but the meeting dispersed after only a little more than an hour. She had just exited the room when a hand caught her elbow; she started, sucking in a breath.

"Oh. It's  _you_ ," she said, whirling to face Gerald and hoping she successfully hid how startled she had been by his sudden touch. "What do you want?"

"I was just thinking, we should probably decide on a plan for our library patrols."

"Here's a plan," Calista said, "You sod off and I'll do it myself."

"We're both assigned to the route, Calista," he said, reasonably.

"Well," she said forcefully, yanking her elbow free, "Then  _change yours_."

"Listen, I -"

Whatever he wanted to say, she didn't give him the chance; she had turned and stormed away down the corridor. The din of the other voices chattering after the meeting quickly put her out of earshot.

Before she'd even quite realised where she was going, she was letting herself in to her father's quarters. As soon as she had stepped over the threshold, she was immediately in a better mood; she supposed it was because she knew wasn't here for lessons today.

He wasn't in his study, or in the small kitchen. She cocked her head, listening for footfalls.

"Dad?"

She heard his voice, faintly, from beyond the door to her left. He was downstairs, in his workroom, then. She tapped her wand to the lock, muttering the charms that she knew would unlock it.

"What? I couldn't hear you," she said, as she reached the bottom of the staircase.

Severus narrowed his eyes. "I said, I'll come up in a moment to let you in. But, evidently, that's not necessary."

"Oh, sorry," Calista said, breezily, "Was I meant to pretend that I don't know the spells for the lock?"

"I don't remember teaching them to you."

"Ah," she said, still largely unconcerned, "I was supposed to pretend that, then."

He opened his mouth, but behind him, his cauldron threatened to bubble over. He turned quickly, focusing his attention on the mixture. When it was time to reduce the heat and let it simmer, he turned to regard his daughter. She was browsing the books on his shelves with keen interest.

"You're far too clever for your own good," he said, but he didn't sound precisely unhappy.

"Can I borrow this, then?" she asked, reaching out towards his bookshelf.

"No," he said, before she could even pull the volume out.

"You don't even know what I want to borrow yet!" she protested.

" _Unspeakable Things: The Darkest Arts_ ," he guessed.

She smirked. "Didn't even have to use Legilimency, hm?"

"To know you'd ask for whichever title you thought would irk me most? No, I don't need magic for that."

He turned back to the cauldron, inspecting its contents carefully.

"What are you making?" she asked, abandoning the bookshelf to stand at his shoulder.

"Why don't you see if you can identify it?" he offered.

She leaned over, sniffed, tilted her head, and eyed the cauldron carefully.

"It's a love potion antidote," she said, confidently.

"Indeed it is," Severus said, drily, "While you may have been, to my knowledge, the  _youngest_  student to attempt to brew  _Amortentia_  in secret, you were certainly neither the first or the last. How did you figure it out? Was it the color at the simmer stage, or the the uniform bubbles?"

"Neither," she said, loftily. "It was the gurdyroot and kneazle claw you still have out of place on the worktop."

He glanced at her as he removed the cauldron from the heat. It was ready for bottling.

"I spent four hours desperately searching every catalog that would deliver to the school," Calista clarified, "Before I finally came to you and admitted what I'd done. I'll never forget that ingredient list as long as I live."

He chuckled, carefully pouring the mixture into small glass flasks.

"No, I expect you won't," he said, "Hopefully, you will also retain the lesson you learned that day."

"Which one? Not to brew potions in my wardrobe, or that Olivia's a miserable cow?"

"I suppose that brings the tally of valuable lessons arising from that incident to three," he said, corking the flasks, "The most critical one being, of course, that you should always come to me  _first_  if you're in trouble."

"I know." She smiled softly, and reached for the two jars that remained on the worktop. She checked that the covers were tight, then placed them carefully back in their proper places, labels facing out.

"So," Severus said, turning towards her, " _Are_  you looking for new reading material?"

"You know me well enough to know the answer to that question is always yes."

"Ah, I thought perhaps you'd only come down to torment me."

"Fringe benefit," she said, brightly, following him to the bookshelf.

"I'm certain you'll find this one interesting," he said, pulling a thick volume off the shelf and holding it out to her. Reflexively, she cradled it carefully in her left arm.

" _Deconstructing the Dark Arts: Secrets in Ancient Runes,_ " she read, "This… this sounds  _fascinating_ , why haven't you ever shown it to me before?"

He met her eyes. "You'll soon see, when you get into it," he said, "Incidentally, that one needs to stay in my quarters, but you can read it here whenever you like."

She had the book open in her arms, and was already perusing the index hungrily.

"You can borrow this one as well," he said, pulling down another volume. She closed the cover of the first reluctantly; he suspected she was only persuaded to do so by the promise of yet another book.

" _Moste Potente Potions_ ," she read, opening the back cover and skimming the index of that one, too.

"You've already made Polyjuice Potion," he said, "But I suspect a few other potions in there will pique your interest." He smirked, "I'd advise against making any of them in your wardrobe, however."

"That was one time," she reminded him, yet again.

"Would you like to join me upstairs for a bit, or are you going to disappear into your old room to begin reading those books?"

"There's no reason I can't do both, in time," she said, and she carried the books up carefully while he brought the freshly filled flasks upstairs to put away in his office. He was of the opinion that it was best to have certain antidotes easily at hand, for the inevitable student mishaps.

She placed the books in her old room, on top of her wardrobe and went to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. Soon, they were sitting across from each other at the small wooden table, each with their own steaming mug before them. Calista smiled; she couldn't help it. There was something so familiar and comforting about the situation.

"How was your Prefect meeting?" he asked.

"It.. it was fine," she said. "I'm not particularly thrilled about  _who_  I'm sharing the library patrol with, though."

He raised an eyebrow. "I specifically requested that I be allowed to assign one of my students to the route, just so you could have it. It almost always goes to Ravenclaws; I think Filius only agreed because it was you."

"I'm very pleased with the route," she said, hastily. "It's just… well, the other person who was assigned to it is Gerald Boot, and he's always been a prat to Marcus."

"Well," Severus said, evenly, "The unfortunate truth is that we often need to work with those we don't particularly care for, and I'm afraid it's only going to get worse as you age."

"I guess." She sipped her coffee, then tilted her head. "Dad? Can I ask you about something?"

"No."

She blinked, and then realised he was joking.

"Right," she said, "So I was talking to Draco and he mentioned… he said that someone's been giving him a hard time, threatening to curse him and things. He says the other student isn't being held responsible for it because he's in Dumbledore's favour, but… well, it sounds a little improbable, and I've seen Draco manipulate the truth when it suits him, and I'm not sure what to think."

"It would hardly be the first time the Headmaster doled out special treatment," Severus said, an edge creeping into his voice. "Who's the student? A Gryffindor, I expect?"

She nodded. "Harry Potter."

Severus' lips curled instantly into a distasteful sneer. "So," he said, "It's as I expected. Potter is nothing but an arrogant bully, just like his father was."

She blinked, surprised by her father's visceral reaction. "So you… you think Draco's telling the truth, then?"

"It does not surprise me in the least to hear that Potter is bullying other students - Slytherin students - and using his  _celebrity status_  to escape punishment."

"You said he was like his father," Calista ventured, "You knew him, then?"

"Unfortunately."

"Was he… was he like Olivia?"

"Oh, he was worse.  _Far_  worse."

She regarded her father intently a moment.

"He bullied  _you_ ," she guessed, "When you were in school."

Severus nodded, tightly.

She frowned, wrapping her fingers around her coffee mug. "I can't imagine you letting him get away with that," she mused, "You must have… you must have done something to get him to leave you alone?"

"If only I could have had the chance, just once, to face him one-on-one, I'm sure I could have. But that blasted Potter always made sure the odds were in his favour - it was always at least four on one. I don't know how he managed to ensure that. I often wondered - well, sometimes it seemed that he must have had someone watching, somehow, to know when I'd be alone."

"That's horrible," Calista said, visibly outraged. "Did you go to your Head of House?"

"Of course I did," Severus said, "It was, largely, an exercise in futility. Slughorn was fair, but he would never disagree with the Headmaster."

"The Headmaster - that was still Professor Dumbledore, back then? He didn't stop them?"

He laughed hollowly. "You know, they say that I favour students from my own House - yes, I'm aware of that rumour - now, if I were doing such a thing, why do you suppose that would be?"

Evidently, it was a rhetorical question, because he leaned forward a bit more and continued, before she could even open her mouth.

"I respect the Headmaster a great deal, Calista. Please do not come away from this conversation with any other impression. However, it has been demonstrated to me quite clearly, on several occasions, that he has a very large blind spot when it comes to the misdeeds of students in his old House."

She frowned. "I guess I'll try to watch out for Draco then, as much as I can."

"There's certainly no harm in that. Although - I will venture a guess that your little cousin perhaps won't have as difficult a time as many might in his situation. He seems perfectly willing to call in his father's considerable influence on his behalf."

"People think that's what  _I_  do, you know," she said, "Some people are saying that you're the only reason I became a Prefect."

"Well, if it's any consolation, if I were making the decision based solely on your behaviour in your first couple of years at Hogwarts, I would not have hesitated to nominate Miss Yaxley in your place."

Calista made a face. "Yeah, thanks, that makes me feel loads better," she said sarcastically.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

"For the next several weeks," Professor Flitwick said, looking out over the classroom, "We will be learning variations of the flame-creating charm,  _Incendio_. However, I must stress that mastery of the original charm will be required in order to be successful with these new charms, and for many of you that will mean some revision before we begin."

He waved his wand, and a medium-sized jar appeared on each student's desk.

"Please practise creating your flames  _inside_  your jar, for everyone's safety," he said, "Ah, and of course, for the safety of your textbooks!"

A few students chuckled, Calista among them; most of them pushed their textbooks towards the edges of their respective desks, further away from their jar.

"I want everyone to practise the initial charm for a few moments," he said, "And when we're all  _warmed up -_ " He giggled softly at his own joke - "I'll demonstrate the first of the five variations we'll be learning."

" _Incendio,_ " Calista murmured, aiming at her jar; immediately, a bright crackling flame filled it. " _Dactila Frigus_ ," she added, pointing her wand at the outside of the jar.

"What's that do?" Marcus wondered, leaning across the aisle.

"Here," she said, picking up the jar and holding it out to him, "See for yourself."

He blinked, and looked somewhat alarmed; quickly, he cradled his hands under hers, as if to catch the jar should she drop it. She smiled, and set it carefully in his hands. Marcus winced, and then his eyes widened in surprise.

"Oh, brilliant! It's not hot to touch! Can you do that to mine?"

"Sure - you'll have to light the flame first, though, or it might interfere with your charm."

He nodded, setting her jar back on the corner of her desk, and then turning to his own.

" _IncendioI_ ", he said, and a flame sparked to life in his jar. Calista leaned over, aiming her wand -

Before she could cast, Marcus' flame sputtered out.

"Oops," he said sheepishly ,"Erm, that happens to me sometimes. Hang on, let me try again -  _Incendio!_ "

This time, his aim was not nearly as good, and the corner of his text began to smolder.

"Uh-oh," he said, face reddening. He began blowing on the book earnestly, which had precisely zero effect on the magical flame.

" _Glacius!_ " Calista cast quickly, freezing the air around them. The fire went out immediately; so did all of the jarred flames within three or four desks of the two of them.

"Nice going,  _Snapelet_ ," Olivia hissed from a few seats over.

Professor Flitwick climbed down from the stack of books atop his desk and toddled quickly over to Marcus' desk.

"Ah, you've got to be more careful with your aim, ," the tiny professor admonished; puffs of white mist came out along with his words, as he entered the frigid zone Calista had created. "Miss Snape, excellent quick thinking! Though it is a bit chilly in here now, isn't it?"

Flitwick waved his wand. " _Tepor Habitus_ ," he said, and a pleasant warmth soon replaced the chill air in their section of the classroom.

"Sorry, Professor," Calista said, "I just - you know, I wanted to protect the book."

Flitwick grinned at her. "Quite all right, my dear, I understand completely. Now, then, let's all practise once again - raise your hand when you've got it consistently a few times."

They ended up practising the basic  _Incendio_  charm for the rest of the lesson, which Portia and Olivia were thrilled to loudly blame on Calista and Marcus. With considerable effort, she managed to ignore them as she gathered her books and notes at the end of the class period.

"I have an hour before Arithmancy," she offered, walking alongside Marcus as they left the classroom, "If you'd like me to show you that spell…or we could work on something else, if you'd like."

He grinned. "Yeah, sure, that'd be brilliant. I can show you where the Prefect's bathroom is."

She frowned. "I'm not sure if we have time for that. Professor Vector deducts ten House Points from anyone who's late. Let's go the the library, it's close to the staircase to the third floor."

"Oh. Erm, okay." He sounded less than enthused, but dutifully turned in that direction.

Once they arrived in the library, and miracle of miracles, Madam Pince was nowhere to be seen, Marcus claimed a study table in the corner that was mostly obscured behind a tall set of shelves. The library was very nearly deserted at this time in the afternoon; a few students studied quietly at the other end of the room, nearest the windows, but other than that they had the room to themselves.

"I guess this isn't so bad," Marcus said, leaning over and nuzzling the side of her neck; she leaned into it for a moment, but then pulled gently away.

"Come on, we don't have a lot of time," she said, reaching for her textbook.

"Mm, okay," Marcus said, sliding even closer to her, and taking hold of her chin. He began kissing her, earnestly and ardently, his other hand coming to rest on her knee.

"Marcus," she murmured, hesitating and leaning back slightly - but he redoubled his efforts, and briefly Calista was swept along with the moment, her eyes drifting closed, heart racing - but damn it, they really  _didn't_  have a lot of time, and besides, his hand was slowly sliding up her leg towards her hip, and even her layers of clothing and robes between them wasn't enough to keep her from blushing fiercely.

"Marcus!" she said again, in a loud whisper this time. She turned her head so that her chin was wrenched out of his fingers, and quickly began flipping through the pages of her text, trying to ignore the heavy beating of her heart, the strange warmth that was flooding her chest and…  _no,_  it would  _not_  do to complete that thought.

"Oh," Marcus said, flatly, after a moment had passed. "You… you actually wanted to study, then?"

"What? Of course I did! That's what I said, isn't it?"

"Well," Marcus said, and Calista thought he sounded a bit put out, "You said we could do that spell, or we could  _work on something else_ , and I just thought…"

"I meant another spell!"

"It's just… I hardly saw you over the summer, and since school's started again you  _always_  want to study."

"I went flying with you," she said, defensively.

"Yeah," he said, " _Once_ , since term started. And you haven't been coming to team practises, even though you said you would."

"We spent half the day together at the last Hogsmeade weekend," she said.

"Yeah," Marcus said, scornfully, "At the  _book store_. Calista, I've been trying real hard to do things you like to do, but you never want to do things I like. It's not really fair."

"Well, maybe if we got more actual  _studying_  done when we say that's what we're going to do -"

"Come on, it doesn't matter how much you study, you never think it's enough. If I didn't try to kiss you when we were supposed to be studying, I'd never get to kiss you at all."

"That's not true," she said, but privately, she was thinking back, wondering if he was right.

He sighed. "Listen, I don't want to argue, I really don't. But could you… could you at least come to practise on Friday, and hang around with me for a bit after?"

"I…" she considered. Practise was usually in the afternoons, she supposed it would still be light enough for her to read in the stands until practise was over. "Yes, sure, I'll come."

He looked immediately cheered. "Brilliant! Could you… could you do me a favour, too?"

She felt wretched when she saw how excited he was for her to come to practise; had she really been neglecting him that badly?

"Sure, Marcus, anything," she said.

"Don't bring any books with you," he said.

 _Damn it._  Well, she had already promised. She sighed.

"Fine."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista entered the common room after dinner on Friday intent on getting a few good hours of reading in. She was tempted to go to her father's quarters and read one of the books he had lent her, but she knew she ought to re-read the latest chapters from her Arithmancy book, since she had a lengthy essay due in a week's time.

She paused, catching sight of Endria, a sixth-year Prefect, sitting at a study table and idly flipping through a thick volume. She had a sudden idea; something that she'd been wondering about that Endria would know.

Calista slipped into the chair opposite Endria.

"Erm, hi," she ventured. Endria looked up, just as a wide yawn eclipsed her face.

"Hey, Calista," the older girl said, "Saw me drowning in boredom and came to rescue me, hm?"

"Something like that. What are you reading?"

Endria flipped to the front cover, keeping her place with the palm of her hand.

" _The Definitive Alphabetical Index to Every Battle of the Goblin Rebellions_ ," she read, tilting her head to make out the title. "Wow. That sounds… tedious."

"They're not taking the piss, I'm telling you, it's every single bloody battle - erm, no pun intended."

Calista allowed a small smile.

"If you're thinking of going for a History of Magic N.E.W.T.," Endria said, "Don't."

"If I was considering it before, I'm not anymore," Calista reassured her, and then: "So, Endria, I… I actually wanted to ask you something."

Endria nodded, marking her page with a spare bit of parchment. She looked relieved to have an excuse to set the volume aside. "Sure, what is it?"

"It's… erm, it's about being a Prefect. Well.. kind of."

"Go on."

"The Prefect bathroom," Calista said quietly, leaning forward, "I've heard… well, I've heard a few different things, and I'm not sure… what is it really like? It's a… it's like an indoor swimming pool, right?"

Endria laughed. "You mean you haven't been yet?"

Calista shook her head, and lowered her own voice even further, though only Endria's was potentially loud enough to carry far.

"No. I… I don't like to get into things when I don't know what to expect."

"Calista," Endria said, "It's a bathroom, not a dragon's den."

"So it's… it's not like a swimming pool, then?"

"Well, the bath is about the size of one," Endria conceded. "But there are toilets too, of course, and nice large dressing rooms. Fluffy towels as far as the eye can see, and every kind of bubble bath known to wizardkind."

"You said 'bath', Calista said, "But it's… I mean, people aren't really… erm,  _naked_ in there, right?"

Endria threw back her head, and laughed raucously. A few people turned to look at them.

"Endria, shh!" Calista whispered, frantically. Oh gods, what would she do if  _Olivia_  heard her asking that question?

Endria leaned forward now, making a visible effort to school her expression.

"Calista, how else would you expect someone to take a bath? Of  _course_  people are naked. S'why they call it the 'Romance Room' half the time."

"The - the  _what_?"

"Romance room," Endria repeated, and Calista wished she hadn't, "It's a bit of a joke among the Prefects, yeah? Anyway, why do you think we're all so excited about it? You didn't really think we were all thrilled about a  _bathroom_ , did you? It's… it's what you can  _do_  in there...or, you know,  _who_  you can -"

"Ugh, stop. Please."

"Hey," Endria said, eyes lighting up. "Did Marcus tell you, Quidditch Captains get to use the Prefects' bathroom too?"

"Uhm. He… yeah, he might have mentioned it," Calista said faintly.

"Well," Endria said, "Have fun, then, you two kids." She winked, which Calista could definitely have done without. "If you want to have some time… you know,  _alone_ , I'd go after dinner on a weeknight."

"Oh, uhm, thanks, I guess."

"That's my official advice as a fellow Prefect," Endria continued, "But, you know… really, you've got the best shot of being alone after  _curfew_."

"Oh," Calista said again, just as Marcus came out from his dormitory into the common room. She felt her face heat up, though he couldn't possibly have overheard her conversation with Endria.

"Calista," Marcus said, happily, "I thought for sure you'd be nose-deep in a book. Want to take a walk or something? Hey, Endria."

"Ooh, hello," Endria said, cracking a sly grin, "I was just telling Calista all about the Prefects' bathroom - well, the Prefects' and  _Captain's_ bathroom."

Marcus grinned, too, but after a glance at Calista, it faltered.

"All right, Calista?" he asked, concerned.

"You're right," she said, hastily, "I should be studying now - I left my Arithmancy book in my room, I have to go get it."

"O...kay," Marcus said, puzzled. Calista leapt up, and scurried in the direction of the dormitories.

"You know, on second thought," she said, just before she opened the door to slip into her own dorm room, "I might just study in here. Good night!"

Once the door was shut firmly behind her, though, Calista didn't even reach for any of her books. Instead, she climbed into bed, and pulled the covers up to her chin. She lay, staring up at the darkness, fiercely glad that no one else was in the room at that moment.

 _The Romance Room_ , Endria had said,  _It's what you can_ do  _in there…_

She recalled, squirming slightly under her covers, the way that Marcus was growing bolder, when they were kissing. There had been that other day in the library, and then, just this afternoon, after his Quidditch practise, they'd been… well, they'd been making out at the far edge of the pitch, by the foot of the goalposts, where they wouldn't be seen easily, and he'd had a hand at the side of her neck, and had slid it down to her shoulder. It had still been sliding when she'd pulled away, realising they were about to miss dinner.

He hadn't wanted to leave, but he had reluctantly done so when she reminded him that it would look bad for her as a Prefect to miss dinner because she was out in the dark with her boyfriend.

She remembered something he had said over the summer, something she had been trying very hard to push out of her mind, about what Marcus' father evidently believed Quidditch Captains should be doing.

_He's always saying stuff about all these girls he snuck into the locker rooms after practise…_

Well, Marcus hadn't asked her to sneak into the locker room that afternoon, at least. And anyway, he had said he  _wouldn't_ , over the summer.

 _Ah, but what_ else  _did he say?_  A nasty little voice in her head needled her.

 _...unless you want me to_ , he'd finished. Which sounded an awful lot like… well, Calista thought it sounded like  _he_ , at least, did want to.

If she was under any illusion about what he could possible want to do with her in the locker rooms, Endria had thrown the veil off it when she'd spoken so cavalierly about what people called the Prefect bathroom.

 _But he didn't ask me to_ , she reminder herself,  _And yes, okay, he's asked me to go to the Prefect bathroom, but maybe he doesn't_ know  _that's what people do there…_

 _Right_ , she told herself sarcastically,  _I'm sure he went there all last year and never noticed._

She knew he must have been, at least once, because he'd described it to her on the first day of term. Then she remembered something  _else_  he had said, over the summer:

 _I wouldn't try to do anything you don't want me to_ , he'd said, which was good, but then he'd added,  _Just like flying upside down, right? Not until you want me to._

It occurred to her for the first time, in that moment, that he had not said 'Not  _unless_  you want me to.' No, he had said, 'Not  _until_  you want me to', which implied that he expected, at some point, she would want to.

Well, it was exactly like flying upside down then, wasn't it? She would simply  _never_  want to…

 _Never?_  Came that annoying inner voice again,  _Just like you would 'never' want to kiss a boy, hm?_

She ignored that, ignored the recollection that her heart always quickened in anticipation when they were kissing like that, that even when she grew nervous she wasn't always quite sure she wanted to stop his hands from going… wherever they were going to go.

Then another thought dawned on her, one that made her feel hot and cold and like she might never get out of bed again, all at the same time.

It was what he had said;  _Just like flying upside down_ …

Something she never wanted to do, but he always did. Well, that told her everything she needed to know, didn't it?

 _I'm never leaving this room again_ , she thought, pulling the covers up further so they covered her all the way up to her forehead.  _Especially not for Occlumency lessons in the morning._

That was an additional complication she couldn't even bear to consider at the moment; how could she face her father, knowing what she knew now about the Prefect bathroom, and knowing that he most certainly did not know what she did?

What if he took away her Prefect status? Almost as bad, what if he  _didn't_? Would he strip Marcus of his Captain position? She'd feel awful if she were responsible for that, even if she wasn't sure, at that precise moment, if she ever wanted to see Marcus again.

She would just have to pretend to be ill, until it was time to graduate. That was clearly the most sensible solution to her problems.


	3. Chapter 3

"Calista?" Emily's voice, tentative, was not unexpected. Still, though she had been lying awake for at least an hour, Calista pretended not to hear her roommate. Perhaps she'd give up and leave.

"Calista? Are you awake?" Her voice was closer, now. Calista felt the presence of someone standing next to her bed; reflexively, even though she knew it was only Emily, her eyes flew open.

"Oh, good," Emily said, relieved, "You're awake. Calista, Prof - your dad, I mean, is in the common room looking for you."

"I'm not - I don't - Can you tell him I don't feel well?"

"Oh. I'm sorry. Are you… are you all right?"

Calista felt a pang of guilt, recalling the friendship she and Emily had once had, and the fact that she had more or less ignored her roommate over the past year or so. She hadn't understood, once, why Emily felt the need to hang on to the shallow friendship that Olivia and Portia offered; but then, she had begun to see that perhaps Emily wasn't so wrong when she'd asserted that it was easier for Calista to stand on her own than it would be for Emily. After all, even with Calista's help, it was difficult for Daisy Spratt, who was still being taunted regularly by her own roommates.

"I'm… I just need to… to be in bed for a while," Calista managed.  _Forever_ , she thought.

"I'll tell him," Emily said doubtfully. She frowned, and left the room. Calista pulled her blankets up over her head.

Not even a moment later, the door opened again; Calista could hear soft footsteps.

"Uhm, Calista, your dad still wants you to come out. I think he's worried. Or angry. I can't really tell which, with him."

"They're the same thing," Calista grumbled, reluctantly pushing her blankets aside and rolling out of bed. As soon as Emily had left, she dressed in a pair of fitted trousers and a green blouse that Narcissa had given her for Christmas, pulling her plainest robes on over them. She'd have to remember to put laundry out for the house elves soon, or she'd be reduced to wearing one of the many skirts that Narcissa was always buying for her.

She had long ago ripped the mirror down from the door of her wardrobe, so she couldn't check to see how she looked; she rubbed her face and pulled her hair back into a plain black clip, hoping she looked… what, exactly? Normal? Ill enough to be excused from her lesson? Or just like a girl who was definitely, positively  _not_  thinking about whether she was supposed to sneak off to a bath with a boy?

Perhaps, just to simplify things, it would be best to simply… well, to break up with Marcus. He couldn't possibly expect her to… to  _take things further_  if they were no longer dating, right? But the problem with that plan was that she  _liked_  Marcus, and it wasn't as if she didn't enjoy spending time with him. It was just, she felt that she didn't know where the  _limit_  was, and she was afraid to ask. What if his limit was much further than hers? What if he didn't even  _have_  one?

A knock came at their dormitory door, and then Emily slipped inside, this time with a textbook under her arm.

"Sorry, I wasn't sure if you were still getting dressed," Emily said, "It's just… your dad's still in the common room and it's making me kind of nervous, so I thought I'd check on you again."

"Okay," Calista said, trying not to sound annoyed; this situation wasn't Emily's fault, after all. "I'm going."

"Well," she said, "I'm going to study in here now anyway, I think. Quieter."

Calista took a deep breath, steadying herself, and focused on clearing her thoughts. It was like old habit now, pushing aside the things she didn't want him to pick up on. He was true to his word in that he tried not to peer in any detail at her thoughts, but it was impossible not to see glimpses, images, impressions. After all, how long had he drilled into her the knowledge that half of Occlumency was ensuring that the person attempting to breach your mind saw only what you  _wanted_  them to see?

When she emerged into the common room, she found that she didn't need to try to appear listless and ill at ease; it was how she  _felt_.

Severus was waiting by the entrance to the common room; as soon as she came into sight, he looked her over with his customary searching look.

"Are you all right? Miss Yaxley said you weren't feeling well," he asked, before she even reached him.

"Yes. I'm… just tired." It seemed the easiest explanation she could offer.

"Well," he said, and after determining she was evidently not under any immediate threat, he ushered her out of the common room, "You should eat something. I'll have something sent to my quarters if you don't want to go to the Great Hall."

Another pang of guilt, the morning's second; he was being quite reasonable, and very caring.

"Dad, I'm not hungry," she said, "I just… I just want to go back to bed. Can we have our lesson another day?"

His brow creased in concern, and his hand went to her forehead.

"You aren't running a fever," he commented, "When did you start feeling ill? Perhaps something you ate last night…?"

"I don't think so."

He frowned. "Let's go to my quarters," he said again, "Eat something, and see if you feel any better."

Wordlessly, she followed him. True to his word, he had a platter sent up from the kitchens, with a variety of breakfast foods, and he even brewed coffee, setting a cup down in front of her.

She made an attempt to pick at the food, if only to placate him, but she felt her stomach shiver and then clench, and she knew that if she kept trying to eat, she really  _would_  be ill. To her credit, she managed to keep her maelstrom of nerves safely behind her third barrier. She focused on surrounding them with more vibrant thoughts and memories, so that if he  _did_ decide to begin testing her barriers, he might be distracted by these other visions.

He made no such attempt, however; instead, he regarded her steadily across the table, still wearing evident concern on his features.

"Calista, what's wrong? Did you have another dream?"

She shook her head. "Not in a long time. I'd tell you."

"Well, you have  _forgotten_ , before…"

She looked up at him, pointedly for a second. "I haven't had any dreams about her," she said, firmly. "It's nothing like that."

"Then," he said, "What  _is_  it? Are you too busy with Prefect duties? I could take you off a few patrols -"

"Dad," she interrupted, "Please stop. I know you're trying to help, but I just - there's nothing, nothing you need to help with, or worry about…"

She had a thought, then. Maybe there  _was_  someone who could help her, though.

"I was wondering, though," Calista ventured, "Do you think we could - or I could - maybe visit Aunt Narcissa again soon, one of these weekends?"

At once, Severus' expression cleared.

" _Ah_ ," he said, relieved at once that he had an answer; it was some sort of… of female problem, clearly, which meant two things: one, she was likely  _not_  in any significant danger, and two, he would thankfully not have to deal with whatever it was. "If you want to talk to her, I could call her up on the fire, you know."

Calista looked hopeful. "Could you? Maybe… maybe today?"

Severus nodded. "I'll see if she's available momentarily. After you eat something for breakfast."

She forced herself to nibble at a piece of toast. "Uhm, one thing…"

"Yes?"

"Could you… could you leave after you call her up for me? I just… uhm, it's sort of private, what I wanted to talk to her about…"

She squirmed uncomfortably.

"Of course." If she  _were_  in any danger, or concealing something he needed to know about, he knew Narcissa would tell him. If, on the other hand, it was something that he decidedly should not and did not want to know about, he was more than happy to remain blissfully ignorant.

Narcissa was of course delighted to hear from Calista. As soon as Severus had called her up on the fireplace in his study and exchanged pleasantries, he kept his word and left his quarters. He decided to take a walk around the castle. He considered going into Hogsmeade, but then thought Calista might like to go with him, after her lesson, assuming she was well enough after her conversation with Narcissa to have it today.

He had set one of his armchairs close to the fireplace, but Calista ignored it, choosing to settle on the floor before the fireplace, legs curled under her in her customary pose.

"What's wrong, darling?" Narcissa's flame-image asked, concerned. "Is that nasty girl causing you trouble again?"

"Not really," Calista said. "Aunt Narcissa, can I… can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"It… it's going to sound strange. But… when you were in school, was there… was there, uhm, a  _rumour_  about students - you know, boys and girls - using the Prefects bathroom to, uhm…" Her face was already warm from the fire, but she could still feel herself blushing. "Make out and things?" she finished.

Narcissa chuckled. "Ah, yes," she said, "What did they call it in my day? The 'romance room', I believe?"

Calista frowned. It was true, then.

"Aunt Narcissa, I think.. Well, I know that Marcus wants me to go there with him."

"And you don't want to go?"

"Of course not!" Calista said quickly, but even through the flames she could feel her aunt's shrewd gaze on her, and she sighed.

"I suppose… I did want to, before I realised… before someone told me exactly what it was like. But I'm not sure what anyone expects - what  _he_  expects, and I just can't -"

She paused, glancing towards the doorway of the study, as if to reassure herself that her father had not magically materialised back in his flat.

"Aunt Narcissa, what if Marcus wants me to… to…"

"Have sex with him?" Her aunt supplied; Calista winced.

"Uhm. Yeah… that. I  _can't_  do that. And even if it's not  _that_ , what if there are other things?"

"He hasn't been pressuring you, love, has he?" Narcissa's voice was carefully controlled, but Calista picked up on the hint of a dangerous edge she sometimes forgot Narcissa possessed.

"No," Calista said quickly, "Not… I mean, he only wanted to go there, is all. He says… he always says he won't do anything until I'm ready."

"Well, that certainly sounds reasonable."

"But," Calista said, "I don't think I'll  _ever_  be ready for… that."

"You will change your mind on that front at some point, darling, I guarantee it."

"No, I won't," Calista said decisively. It wasn't just her pale, spindly limbs, or any of the other things she felt self-conscious about, and it wasn't just that the whole  _idea_  of sex still made her feel like she had been hit with a Jelly-Legs Jinx. It was also the scars, the fine white lines that formed a crude imitation of a dreaded symbol on her back; scars for which she still didn't have a satisfying explanation. How could she ever let  _anyone_  see that?

Narcissa chuckled softly. "You will, darling, trust me. It doesn't need to be soon; don't put pressure on yourself, and, if it comes to it, don't let your young man put any on you, either. You'll be ready when you're ready, and not a moment before. Ah, in fact, it would be most convenient if you were  _not_  ready until you are of age."

"Huh - convenient?" Calista's brow furrowed.

"Ah - your father, darling - he was quite clear when he  _ordered_  me to dissuade you by any means necessary from engaging in any sort of sexual activity if you express any interest in doing so before you are of age."

"Gross."

"Is it?" Narcissa's brow raised; even as a floating head in a small hearth fire she appeared elegant. "If you are truly repulsed by the idea, why continue your relationship?"

Calista blinked several times. "What? That's not… that's  _not_  the only reason I like Marcus."

"Well, of course I know that, love, but if you were interested in only friendship with your young man, then you would  _be_  only friends, yes?"

"I… I guess," Calista said, hesitantly.

Narcissa let her words digest for a minute, and then, with a gentle firmness:

"You are too old to continue pretending to find any mention of such things 'gross', Calista; either that, or you are in fact too young to have a boyfriend."

"I'm not too - I don't - what am I  _supposed_  to think of  _'such things'_  then?" Calista challenged crossly; this conversation was not going at all the way she had imagined it would.

Narcissa sighed; a warm breeze fluttered over from the fireplace.

"It's natural for you and your young man to feel desire for each other, Calista. You should never feel ashamed or embarrassed for that. However, you must also be aware of your own level of maturity and comfort with acting on those desires. It is difficult, at your age, I know. It is all fairly new, after all."

"Wait. Aren't you supposed to be telling me to.. to wait until I'm seventeen to think about any of that stuff, and make sure I don't go anywhere alone with Marcus where things could happen? Stuff like that?"

Narcissa's delicate brow arched. "I imagine if that's what you wanted to be told, you'd be speaking with your father, and not with me."

Calista opened her mouth, and then closed it. Her aunt had a point.

"I want to keep you safe just as much as he does, Calista, but I don't believe the way to do that is to continue pretending that your mind is still that of a young child. You are a young woman, and I will treat you and advise you as such."

"So then what do I do?" Calista wondered quietly, "Am I… am I  _supposed_  to go to the Prefects' bathroom with him?"

"Do you want to?" Narcissa asked her again.

"I don't know."

"Let's break the question down further, then," her aunt prodded gently, "Tell me why you think you  _might_  want to go."

"Well," Calista began, "I know Marcus wants to."

"No," Narcissa said, gently, "Forget about what you think he wants; we are determining if  _you_  should go, so any reasons you offer should be your own. Now, why might  _you_  want to go?"

"Uhm…" Calista felt herself blushing. "I like being with Marcus… uhm, kissing and things…and it's hard when I'm always nervous someone might be watching."

"Anything else?"

Calista shook her head. "Not really."

"Very well. Now, what are the reasons that you are afraid you should  _not_  go?"

"Well," Calista said, hesitantly at first, before the words began to pour out of her mouth, "I'm afraid someone else might be there at the same time, and that would be embarrassing. And, what if it's weird for me to go there and - and keep everything on. What if Marcus only wants to go because he thinks I  _won't_ keep everything on? What if he wants to… to take things further than I do? What if he expects me to - expects me to…" she trailed off, too flustered to continue.

"First things first, darling," Narcissa said, in arch tones. "Whatever else may happen you are absolutely not going to have sex with your young man in a  _school bathroom_."

"Well, of course I'm not!" Calista sputtered. That was what she was trying to  _say_.

"That would be terribly  _déclassé_ ," Narcissa continued, " _If_  the time comes, he will take you somewhere nice, and private, and preferably expensive."

"Aunt Narcissa," Calista managed, "That is not helpful right now."

Narcissa tsked, as if she disagreed. "Well. As for the rest of it: you must make your boundaries clear to your young man; you need to decide what you're comfortable with, and what you're not, and make certain he understands. I'd advise you to think about it carefully and be quite firm; teenage boys have a tendency to want to see how far they can push the envelope, so to speak."

"What do I do if… if someday he wants things I don't?"

"Oh, darling, that will most  _certainly_  be the case one day if it is not already, and the answer to your question is simple: You don't do anything if you don't want to. I know you can be stubborn; here is the situation where you absolutely should be, and don't allow yourself to feel badly for it, either."

Calista exhaled. "Okay," she said, a little shakily, "And what if… what if I really just want what I said before? No… no sneaking off, and… and nothing more until I'm of age?"

"If that is truly what you want," Narcissa said, "Then tell him so. My advice is to be clear, tell him that's what  _you_  want, rather than relying on the excuse of 'just following rules'. In the long run, I think, that will serve you both better."

"I… I guess that makes sense."

"Now…  _if_  your young man has a hard time accepting or respecting your limits, you will of course come to me, or to your father."

"I think… uhm, I think I would come to you about this kind of stuff," Calista said quickly, "Otherwise, I might be attending a funeral - and I'm not sure it would be from  _outside_  a casket."

Narcissa pursed her lips; it was hard to tell, through the wavering flame-image, if the look was disapproving, or was simply meant to cover amusement.

"Anyway," Calista said, "I think… I think I feel a little better now. Uhm… thank you, for talking to me. I… really."

"Of course, darling. You can talk to me anytime."

They said their goodbyes and then her aunt's visage disappeared from the fireplace.

Well. She stood up, still feeling a little shaky, a little uncertain. She did notice, however, that the knot in her stomach had somewhat dissolved.

She still didn't know exactly what to do about the Prefects' bathroom, but she felt a solid little gleam, clear and full in her mind:  _You don't do anything if you don't want to_. And though she had known, really, that was the way it ought to be, she was relieved to have been told so, very clearly, by her aunt.

The conversation had given her another wisdom to hold on to, as well.  _Tell him that's what_ you _want, rather than relying on the excuse of 'just following rules'_. Hadn't she been afraid, a little, that one day seventeen would come and she would still not be ready but would no longer have the excuse of her father's rules?

She knew Narcissa was right, as well, that her father preferred to think of her as perhaps a bit younger than she actually was - at least in this regard. But then - he  _had_  been letting her learn more and more curses, and he had lent her books that he wouldn't even have let her touch a couple of years ago, so perhaps that assessment wasn't entirely fair.

She supposed - after she took some time to clear her mind, of course - that she ought to find her father and get her Occlumency lesson over with; she knew him well enough by now to know that if they skipped it today she'd only have it another day, or perhaps a double session next week.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

"I wonder," Calista said quietly, as she approached the Ravenclaw first year that was making a very poor attempt to slip unnoticed into the Restricted section of the library, "Do you have a particular fondness for Professor Flitwick?"

The boy jumped, turning to face her. "Huh?"

"I asked if you had a particular fondness for Professor Flitwick," Calista repeated, "Only because, if you take a single step further in that direction, you'll be spending the entirety of Saturday morning with him."

The boy ducked his head. "I was just… erm, just…"

"Leaving?" Calista suggested, helpfully.

He nodded, quickly. "Yes, that." She stepped aside to let him pass, and he walked quickly away, out of the library, probably worried that she was going to change her mind and give him a detention after all.

"Hey, Kyle," she heard someone say from the corridor, "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"Nothing!" the boy said quickly, and then, "Erm, nowhere, I mean. See you later, Gerry!"

Calista frowned. Gerry?

Gerald Boot entered the library, then, shaking his head. He spotted Calista and chuckled.

"Ah, now it makes sense. Trying to sneak into the Restricted section, was he?"

"I thought you were changing your patrol route," Calista answered, unfriendly.

"Well, then I'm afraid you thought wrong," Gerald said, evenly.

"Fine," Calista said, "Then let's just agree to stay out of each other's way."

"We're _supposed_  to work together," Gerald reminded her, plaintively.

"Why? Because we both happened to be assigned the same hallway?"

"No," Gerald said, "Because we were both selected as Prefects. We're  _all_  supposed to work together. It's not supposed to be Slytherin against Ravenclaw; it's not a Quidditch match, you know."

"In case you hadn't noticed, my best friend is a Ravenclaw," Calista said, coolly. "Your House has nothing to do with my disliking you."

He frowned, and Calista thought he looked hurt; but then, she didn't want to feel bad for him, not when he had been such a prat to Marcus for so long, so she lifted her chin and brushed by him, eager to leave the library before she could think better of her behaviour.

She couldn't help but think of his words, though, as she patrolled the lonely corridor, purposefully keeping a distance from him.  _We're all supposed to work together_. She didn't want to admit he might be right, but what was it that her Prefect letter had said? Something about having set a "commendable example for promoting unity among the four Houses of Hogwarts". Well, she wasn't currently doing a particularly good job of that, was she?

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista had never realised before that Prefects were charged with helping to decorate the castle for the holidays. Luckily, though, they weren't obliged to stick to their usual patrol routes, so that was how she ended up decorating the Astronomy tower with Penny and Percy. She and Penny had invited Amelia to help, who seemed pleased, even if she did keep moaning good-naturedly about wasting her free hours hanging around with a bunch lame Prefects instead of learning curses.

"Is this crooked?" Calista wondered, balanced precariously on a stool that, in turn, was balanced precariously on an uneven stair. She held the silhouette of a bat up by a string in front of one of the tower windows.

"Yup," Amelia said cheerfully, "And your face is gonna be too, when you fall off that stool."

"Amelia!" Penny admonished, turning to look. "That's not ni- ah, Calista, she has a point, you should probably get down."

"I wouldn't be lucky enough to fall," Calista scoffed, adjusting the bat and latching it to the top of the window arch with a good Sticking Charm, "That might get me out of my 'elective studies' tomorrow."

She aimed her wand at the bat, casting a neat little charm that caused the wings to start flapping slowly back and forth; then she stumbled, and scrambled hastily off the stool, just as it toppled over and bounced down several stairs, landing nearly on top of Percy.

"Ow!" Percy yelled, even though the stood didn't really hit him, "Be careful, would you?"

"Oops," Calista said. Amelia sniggered.

"They said we could use Sticking Charms," Percy said, eyeing her fluttering bat with disapproval, "They didn't say we could use any other magic."

"Well, they didn't say we  _couldn't_ , either," Calista pointed out, spiritedly.

Amelia grinned. "Lighten up, Perce. Geez, you'd think you were a  _Prefect_ , or something."

"Anyway," Calista added, "It's not as though I'm bewitching it to bite anyone who walks by, or something."

Amelia cocked her head. "Could you do that?" she asked keenly.

"Probably," Calista said, considering.

"But she  _won't_ ," Penny said, quickly. Percy was watching them, open-mouthed with either horror or rage; it was hard to tell which.

Calista laughed, amused by Percy's evident horror as well as by Amelia's eager grin; it was good to be around her friends, like this. They took perhaps another hour decorating, and Calista showed her friends the charm that would cause the bat's wings to flutter; Amelia eagerly applied it to the decorations she hung, but Penny and Percy both refused on the grounds that they hadn't been given explicit permission to do so.

Calista noticed that Amelia applied the charm to a few of their decorations, too, when they weren't looking, and grinned at her friend encouragingly.

"Now that  _that's_  done," Penny said, putting her hands to her hips as they surveyed their work, "I really should get some studying done before dinner. Shall we get a head start on the lunar map ratios for Professor Vector?"

"Hang on," Amelia said, "You mean, you'll  _condone_  us all working on it together? You're not going to glare disapprovingly?"

Penny lifted her chin. "If you paid as much attention in class as you should," she said primly, "You would have heard Professor Vector say that we could work on the charts together, as long as we each turned in our own reports."

" _I'll_  work on them with you, Penny," Percy said. Amelia nudged Calista with her elbow.

"Of course he will," she muttered. Calista hid a small smile.

"We all will, right?" Calista said, "Let's just go get our textbooks and meet in the library, all right?"

Amelia's stomach grumbled. "Can we stop at the kitchens first and nick something?" she asked hopefully, "I'm famished."

"Oh, all right," Penny said, "Let's hurry up and get our books then, yes? And please be quick! I want to get a good start before we have to break for dinner."

The four separated, and Calista rushed through the corridors; it was a long way from the Astronomy tower to the dungeons. She slipped into her dormitory room, retrieved her book, and made her way through the common room, noting that it seemed particularly empty for the time of day.

She caught up with her friends in the corridor outside of the kitchen, textbook under her arm. She stepped up to the painting, reaching out to tickle the pear - but before she even touched it, the painting swung open on its own.

"Hey," Marcus said slowly, from the other side of the painting. He was wearing his Quidditch robes, and balancing his broomstick along with an armful of food. "Are you all right? I was worried when you didn't come to watch practise today…"

"Oh," Calista said, feeling her face heat up. She had completely forgotten that she was supposed to watch him at Quidditch practise that afternoon. "I… I had to help decorate the castle. For Halloween. They… they ask the Prefects to do that."

"Oh," Marcus said, sounding slightly disappointed. "Well, that's okay. I wish you told me, is all."

"Sorry. I forgot."

He smiled hopefully, shifting the weight of his broomstick. "So can we… can we hang out now? We can go back out, if you want to go flying, or…?"

"Uhm," Calista said, just as he noticed her three friends standing several paces back; his eyes went back to her, and he seemed to notice the textbook under her arm for the first time. "We… we were actually just going to the library."

"Oh." She didn't need to be trained in Legilimency to see the disappointment in his eyes.

"You can come," she said, generously.

"Excuse me," Percy said, impatiently, "I thought we were going to  _quickly_  get a snack and then try to get as much of our Arithmancy project done before diner as possible. I don't see how this is helping us accomplish that."

Calista winced. Marcus' face darkened.

"You can still come, Marcus," Calista said hurriedly, "I can - I can just work on my lunar ratios for a little while, and then we can study something else together."

It was too late, though. Marcus was already brushing past them in the hall, letting the painting slam closed in front of Calista. Apples and pears rolled out of his arms, and across the stone floor; he didn't seem to care.

"Marcus," she called after him, half-cajoling, and half-exasperated.

"No, go on." he said, savagely, over his shoulder, "I know you're more interested in Arithwhatsis that you are in me."

"Marcus, come on, that's not fair…"

"She's right," Penny surprised her by speaking up, and addressing Marcus. "That's  _not_  fair. You know, Calista is in her O.W.L. year, and this assignment is sure to feature in the year-end exams. If you care about her, you should want her to do well."

Calista winced, again. "Uhm, Penny," she said quietly, "That's - that's not helping."

"Go on," Marcus said again, ignoring Penny and looking right at Calista. "It's pretty obvious you forgot about me. Don't make it worse now by hanging out with me out of pity. I'm going to the common room. See you at dinner. Maybe."

He left, and Calista wasn't sure if she  _did_  feel pity for him, or anger, or perhaps a bit of both.

"You know," Penny said quietly, "This is exactly why school year relationships are a bad idea."

"Well, not  _all_  relationships," Percy said hurriedly; almost hopefully. "I imagine it could work if both parties in the relationship had an equal dedication to scholarship. Perhaps two Prefects, for instance…"

Penny glanced at Calista, either missing or ignoring the almost pleading note in Percy's voice. "Are you still going to come study with us?"

Calista nodded, clutching her textbook to her chest and making to follow her friends.

" _Hey_!" Amelia reminded them, marching towards the painting, " _I'm still hungry_."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

"The… the true wolf of course is… is different from the werewolf. That is, of course it is different… but they look d-different. The snout, you s-see…"

Calista glanced across the aisle at Marcus' desk. She could see him scrawling what looked suspiciously like Quidditch plays rather than notes; but then, Quirrell's lecture was  _particularly_  boring today. Not only had they already read this particular chapter for homework; they'd read it  _weeks_  ago. It was almost as if he were killing time. Or, perhaps, since it was Halloween, he was trying to keep his lesson on theme. Either way, Calista felt just as distracted as Marcus evidently did.

"Hey. Marcus," Calista whispered. He looked up, his expression uncertain. She'd avoided him for a few days after their argument in the corridor; she'd been angry that he'd started it in front of her friends, but now, with a few days to cool down, she realised she couldn't take the stony silence between them any longer.

"I.. I'm sorry," she continued, voice low. "I just… I didn't mean to forget about your practise."

"M-m-miss Snape," came a soft, querulous voice, and she realised that Professor Quirrell had taken two steps up the aisle, was looking directly at her. "Since you're interrupting my l-lesson, I know you m-must be telling your f-friend how to f-f-fight off a werewolf, yes?"

"Erm," Calista muttered, feeling her face heat up. "Sure, yeah."

"Ah, splendid!" he said, "W-would you mind telling the class?"

"I… well, I suppose I would use a Reductor curse," Calista said carefully, feeling his gaze intensify; it was almost as if… she knew it was mad, but sometimes it felt as if there were someone else watching her through Quirrell's normally timid gaze, taking the measure of her. What if he knew, somehow, that she was learning  _real_  Dark magic? She didn't want to get her father in trouble for letting her practise, so she chose the safest answers she could think of. "Or perhaps a particularly powerful Body Bind curse, to hold it back until I could get away."

"A b-body bind curse?" the professor queried, "Do you - do you think that would be effective, then?"

"One would have to be a  _particularly_  adept caster of charms," Olivia piped up snidely from across the room, "As a werewolf gains significant strength when it transforms; what will hold a human won't necessarily hold a werewolf, as everyone knows. Well.  _Almost everyone_ , evidently."

"Well, good thing I'm a  _particularly adept_  caster of charms, then," Calista couldn't help but growl in response.

"Oh, are you?" Quirrell asked, and again, beneath his harmless air of almost vacant curiosity, she had a creeping  _feeling_  that something sinister was happening, somehow, before everyone's eyes. "How d-d-delightful, Miss Snape. I d-do hope you'll demonstrate, some time."

The bell rang then, and Calista practically leapt up from her chair, gathering her books in record time and exiting the classroom swiftly.

"Hey," Marcus said, and Calista was pleasantly surprised to find him at her shoulder, keeping pace with her. She slowed once they were in the corridor.

"Hey," she said back, quietly. Did this mean he was accepting her apology?

"So.. that was creepy," Marcus said, "Wasn't it?"

"You mean - you mean Professor Quirrell? You… you noticed that, too?"

"Uh, yeah, how could I not? He looks at you like he wants to eat you. Hey - maybe  _he's_  a werewolf."

Calista laughed. "I hardly think Professor Dumbledore would hire a  _werewolf_  to teach us.  _Especially_  not Defence Against the Dark Arts - how ironic would that be?"

"I guess it would be pretty mental," Marcus agreed. Hesitantly, he stepped closer to her, and when she smiled, he slipped his arm around her waist. "So… we have an hour and a half until dinner. I thought, maybe, since you missed flying with me after practise and all, we could go flying now."

"Sure," she said, even though her mind had been on the book of curses her father had lent her all day, even though she wanted to try to read another chapter before dinner. She was relieved that he still wanted to spend time with her, but she didn't think that would last if she ditched him in favor of studying again so soon.

"I was thinking to make it up to me," Marcus continued, steering her in the direction of the common room, "You could  _finally_  let me take you flying upside down."

 _Oh, no._  He really  _meant_  flying, right? On a broomstick? What if it was - oh gods, what if it was some sort of  _euphemism_?

"Hey, relax," Marcus said, watching her, "I was only kidding. Mostly. Wait here, okay? I'll go get my broom."

"I need to put my books away," she said, finding her voice at last.

He raised an eyebrow, and reached out for them. "Tell you what," he said, " _I'll_  put them away for now with my stuff. That way you can't get them back until you fly with me for at least an hour."

She frowned. She supposed that it wasn't  _really_  an unreasonable demand.

"I know you," he said, taking them from her, "You'll sit down and start reading but pretend you're late for some other reason, and by the time we get to the Quidditch pitch it'll be almost dinnertime. I'll be right back, okay?"

He returned with his broom, and they went out to the pitch together. It was a chilly afternoon, and since she hadn't planned on going outside, Calista wasn't wearing her winter cloak. She shivered when a breeze wound around them as they approached the pitch.

"Hey," Marcus said, quietly, leaning his broom against the stands, and pulling her close to him, "None of that. I'll keep you warm."

"I should have grabbed my cloak," she said, even as his arms wrapped around her.

"Mmh. Or I could share my robes," Marcus said. She blinked, wondering what on Earth he meant by that -  _he_ didn't have a cloak, either…

It was clear what he meant soon enough. He unbuttoned the front of his robes and pulled her closer still, wrapping both of them in his robes. He had on a thin grey shirt and black trousers beneath the robes, so it wasn't exactly inappropriate, but she felt her heart speeding up just the same.

Her hands were pulled close to his chest; through the thin material of the shirt, she could feel that he was muscular in a way that she had known he was, but not really  _known_  he was, if that made any sense. She could have sworn, though, that he hadn't been this… well…  _defined_  before, when he had first used flying as an excuse to hold her close against him.

Merlin, she felt small, and skinny, and hopelessly awkward, now.  _She_  didn't have any kind of muscles to speak of, and she certainly didn't have the pleasing, curvy sort of figure that Endria or even Olivia did. She shifted uncomfortably, unconsciously pulling away. Was he going to notice, pressed close like this, that she basically had the same body type as his bloody  _broomstick_?

"Sorry," Marcus muttered, sounding for some reason as if he were the one that was suddenly embarrassed; he shifted too, so they were not pressed together anymore, and she could see his cheeks turning red, his eyes somewhat clouded, even in the fading light. "Erm… should we… should we go on then? Uh- flying, I mean."

"Erm, yeah. Okay." She folded her arms tightly, against the wind, while he refastened the front of his robes. He reached for the broomstick, letting her climb on before he swing on behind her.

He seemed eager to be up in the air; he took off, holding on to her around the middle with one arm and soaring quickly upwards, and then into a dive. She wasn't used to his diving without  _both_  of his arms securely around her, and she gasped, tightening her own grip on the broomstick. Perhaps he noticed, because after another similar dive, he sidled closer, holding her the way he normally did, close and - most importantly - safe.

"So," he said eventually in her ear, as she knew he would, "Upside down?"

"Marcus," she said firmly, half-turning her head so that he could hear her, as he pulled them into another skyward glide, "I do not want to fly upside down with you. I am not going to fly upside down with you."

"All right," he said, and she could hear the grin in his voice, "How about another dive then?"

"That would be okay," she said, and they were already banking the turn, nose of the broom handle pointed down at a steep angle.

All too soon - and for once, even Calista thought it was too soon - they were heading back to the castle for the Halloween feast. He had to stop to put his broom aay, and by the time they entered the Great Hall, the Slytherin table was mostly full, leaving both of them to squeeze in at the end -  _at least_ , she thought,  _it's the end away from the staff table_. Even though she was becoming quite adept at guarding her mind, she often still feared that her father would manage to pick an awkward image out of her mind, especially when so many of them were still so fresh within it.

Partway through the meal, there came a terrible crashing sound as the doors of the Great Hall flew open. Professor Quirrell came tearing in, as white as one of the House ghosts; Calista felt a cold rush of air as he ran past.

"Troll," she heard him say, terror-stricken, to Dumbledore, "In the dungeons - thought you ought to know."

As a murmur of voices, some excited and most fearful, rose up immediately all around, and quickly the scene threatened chaos.

"Prefects," Dumbledore commanded, "Lead your Houses back to the dormitories, immediately."

"Wait," Calista said, but the Headmaster and most of the teachers were already leaving the Great Hall, " _Where_ in the dungeons is the troll?"

No one heard her; she helped herd the Slytherin students, but when they began heading for the door, she tugged on the sleeve of the nearest fellow Prefect.

"Derek," she said, ignoring the cold expression that settled on his face once he realised it was her, " _Where_  is the troll?"

"How should I know?" he snapped, "You heard the Headmaster, we have to go to the dormitories."

"Have you all gone bloody  _mental?_ " she yelled desperately, as the green-clad herd neared the Hall's exit. How was no one else realising this? " _Our dormitories are in the dungeons!_ "

Well. That got everyone's attention; a few of the younger students looked panicked, and one first-year girl looked dangerously close to tears.

Evidently, Calista  _wasn't_  the only one that had realised this detail; suddenly, the door of the Great Hall swung open again, and Severus stuck his head in the Hall.

"Slytherins, stay here!" he said, urgently, "I'll let you know when you can return to your dormitories."

He waited until several of the Prefects, Calista included, had nodded their understanding, and then he was gone again.

A final straggling group of Ravenclaws was heading for the exit, and Calista suddenly caught a flash of green-trimmed robes among them. She walked quickly towards the group, searching their faces… ah, there!

"Eva!" Calista said, "Where are you going?"

Eva Selwyn rolled her eyes, sidling to the edge of the departing group and looking up at Calista. "Shh, you'll give me away. I'm going to see how trolls react to dungbombs."

"No, you're not," Calista said firmly, "You'll stay in the Great Hall with the rest of us, until we're cleared to go."

"Come on," Eva said, boldly, glancing around as she approached the heavy doors. "We both know I'm going to go anyway if I want to; stop drawing attention, and no one else will notice. You never saw me, right? Easier for both of us that way."

The Ravenclaw gaggle had left, but Eva appeared determined to make a run for it anyway. Calista pressed herself to the doors, so Eva couldn't open them.

"What would be  _easier for both of us_ ," Calista snarled, "Is you staying right here; that way you don't get your skull bashed in by a troll and I don't feel responsible for your skull getting bashed in by a troll."

"Come on," Eva said again, but by now, other students were watching them wondering what was going on, and there was not going to be a clean escape.

"Come on, Selwyn, get back with the group," Endria called. Eva flashed a dark look over her shoulder, and then frowned, looking back at Calista.

"I thought it would be fun to have a Perfect friend," she said, moodily, "I didn't realise it'd make you so bloody naff."

She huffed and turned, shuffling her way back towards the majority of the green-clad crowd.

Calista eased herself away from the door and back towards the group once she was satisfied Eva was no longer going to attempt to make a run for it.

"Aw, ickle Calista's blocking the door because she's afwaid of the big bad twoll," Olivia trilled; a few people, mostly her cronies, chuckled.

"Should send you out to fight it, you nattering twit," Endria muttered. Calista hid a smirk.

"Excuse me," came a small, haughty voice. Calista saw her younger cousin, managing to look imperious even as he stared  _up_  at Olivia. "Avril, is it? I'll have you know, my cousin Calista knows more curses than you can count to, and I know quite a few myself."

Olivia rolled her eyes dismissively. "Go back with the rest of the first years, little boy."

"She is  _not_  afraid of a troll," Draco insisted, ignoring the older girl's command. "Perhaps you should be afraid of her, though."

Draco's two best friends, Vincent and another first-year boy he'd met at the beginning of the school year, nodded emphatically. Calista bit back yet another small smirk; she supposed it was nice, touching even, that Draco was attempting to defend her - though she had a sneaking suspicion he was still angling for her to finagle him a position on the Quidditch team.

"You know, you're right," Olivia said, with a sudden contrition that set Calista immediately on edge. "I do apologise; there's simply no way Calista  _could_  be afraid of a troll, when she's been snogging one since third year."

She lifted her chin, and glanced around. If she was expecting a chorus of chuckles, none was forthcoming. Even Derek Logan, who was her staunchest ally of late, looked distinctly uncomfortable. Calista leveled a dangerous glare at her, and was shocked to see that she was far from the only one.

"I know you're not trash-talking our own Quidditch Captain," Endria said evenly, and those who were close enough to have heard her barb murmured and hissed in agreement. "'Cause I might have to take some House points if you were."

"You can't take House points for that -" Olivia protested waspishly, narrowing her eyes.

"Watch me."

"You'd.. You'd be hurting your own House," Olivia said, suddenly uncertain.

"Oh, that's all right," Endria said, breezily, "We'll get the points back and then some when Marcus and the team win us the Quidditch Cup. Right, boys?"

Well, Marcus and the team had heard  _that_  even if they didn't all quite know what had led up to it. They started cheering and hollering enthusiastically, and soon, most of the rest of the Slytherins had joined them.

Calista was inwardly reveling at somehow having come out on top in an exchange she hadn't even really participated in, when she felt someone sidle up beside her.

"I should be on that team," Draco said, reproachfully, looking up at her. "I rather think you owe it to me, now."

She bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing or smirking at him. "I'll think very hard on that, Draco."

He nodded, and raised his chin. "Good. See that you do, please."


	4. Chapter 4

Friday afternoon, the day after Halloween, Calista decided to visit her father's quarters and catch up on some reading from the books he'd lent her. There was no Quidditch practise, since the first match of the year was tomorrow, and the team was taking the day to rest, and as far as Calista could tell, eat everything in sight.

She let herself into his quarters, where he was just tiredly sinking into a chair at the kitchen table, a goblet of something that steamed and smelled a bit like cabbage in his hand.

As he sat, there was the smallest involuntary wince as his leg hit something under the table; in the past, Calista might have missed it, but whether she knew it or not, she had taken to assessing her father in a glance in much the same fashion he always did to her.

"What's wrong?" she asked at once, from the threshold. "And what are you drinking?"

"Nothing," he snapped, "And none of your business."

She narrowed her eyes, stepping closer.

"Most people would wisely leave the room at this point," Severus pointed out. Calista ignored him, and approached the table, ducking her head to see if there was something under there.

"It looked like you hit your leg on something. Did you get hurt? And that smells like a restorative brew. Armadillo bile," she guessed, sniffing delicately. "Dittany. Not sure what else."

"Very good. Five points to Slytherin for your impressive identification of potions ingredients. Now,  _please leave_. I'm not in the mood for company."

She slid promptly into the chair across from him. "You know as well as I do I'm not going to go anywhere until you tell me what's wrong, so this business of trying to scare me into leaving is just posturing, and we both know it."

He flicked his eyes towards her, and she thought she caught a tiny spark of something that she chose to interpret as amusement.

"What do you want, Calista?"

"I came to read one of your books," she said, "And then I saw you were unwell, or hurt. I'm… leaning towards hurt, though I suppose you could use the Restorative Draught for either."

"Fine," he said tiredly, draining half the goblet's contents in a single swig, then setting it down with a dull  _thud_. "I've hurt my leg. It will be fine in a few days. I  _still_  don't want company, though I suppose you're welcome to read in your old room."

"How did you hurt it?"

"Calista," he said, warning evident in his voice. He didn't want her to press on. Still, that had never stopped her before.

"It was last night, wasn't it? The troll. I  _thought_  it was strange, when it was Dumbledore who came back and told us we could go back to our dormitories. You said  _you_  would let us know. It's not… it isn't that bad, is it?"

"It's fine." She thought he sounded strained; or, was it  _pained_?

She stood again, and approached. "Let me see."

"No."

"Maybe I can help," she said, "I can put a salve on it for you if you want -"

"I've already done so, and it's bandaged," he said, firmly. "I assure you, it's taken care of."

" _Was_  it the troll?" she mused, "But that would be a blunt injury most likely - a bruise perhaps - and you said it was bandaged. Were you cut by something?"

"It's none of your concern."

Something dawned on her; he had been planning on harvesting potions ingredients in the forest, hadn't he? "Was it - were you attacked by something in the Forbidden Forest?"

"It was something you won't encounter as long as you don't go anywhere you aren't supposed to," he said, exasperated. She could tell now that he was quickly losing any modicum of patience he might have started this conversation out with. "And as I've repeatedly said, it's none of your business, so please,  _leave it alone_."

"Gee, sorry I care about you," she said, sarcastically, to cover the fact that she was actually a bit hurt he was being so dismissive. She'd  _asked_  because if it were something from the forest, there was a chance it was something poisonous - and she knew his antidote stores were low, she was supposed to come and help him replenish them on Sunday afternoon.

He lifted the goblet and finished its contents, pointedly ignoring her. When she stayed where she was, he snarled.

"I thought you were going to go read.  _In your room_."

She narrowed her eyes. "Forget it, I'm leaving. That's what you want, right?"

"Very astute. I see your powers of deduction haven't up and left you, despite the evidence in the last five minutes to the contrary."

There was none of their customary good-natured teasing in his tone; his words sounded flat and harsh, even to his own ears. In an instant, he saw the hurt flicker across her face, gone again as fast.

He opened his mouth to say something else, perhaps something a touch softer, but she turned on her heel and stormed out of the kitchen and down the short corridor to the exit of the flat.

"What did you say, when I used to talk to  _you_  like that?" she called, after he had already heard the door to his quarters creak open. Her voice trembled with fury and perhaps a bit of something else, "' _We respect each other, Calista'_. Yeah. Okay. What a one-way fucking alley that turned out to be."

"Calista!" he thundered, dangerously, but his only answer was a violent, reverberating slamming of his door.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

There was a Prefect meeting the morning of the first Quidditch match, which Calista was exceedingly grateful for, because that meant she didn't have to face her father in Occlumency lessons after their argument.

She knew she'd be in trouble for talking to him like that, but she was also still quite cross with him for being so cold and dismissive. It wasn't the first time, and even though she knew screaming profanity at him wasn't the right way to address it, she was truthfully quite angry and even more hurt that he saw no issue with his talking to her like that when he had so often admonished her for the same behaviour.

There was a line, or there was meant to be. He certainly held  _her_  to it; she could argue, she could grouse, she could make sarcastic retorts up to a point, but she was not to be cruel, or overstep into disrespect. And yet, he could do it to  _her_ , and really, didn't he see it was the same damn thing?

She saw him in the stands when she approached the Quidditch pitch, and even though she knew he saw her, even saw his mouth open as if to call out to her, she abruptly turned and headed in another direction. The only thing  _worse_  than whatever punishment he was sure to dole out for her outburst would be receiving it in front of a crowd of spectators. She'd delay the inevitable at least until the game was over if she sat far away from him.

She ended up sitting next to her cousin and his friends, who promptly shifted over to make room for her. Gregory Goyle, who was one of Draco's new friends this year, looked quite pleased that an older student had chosen to sit with them, and had promptly asked her what sorts of curses she knew.

She glanced at Draco, who was glowering - probably because he was still not, as he reminder her when she sat down - on the team, and decided to make the attempt to pacify him until the game started by impressing his friends. She made sure to mention that Draco knew several of the curses she listed too, even though she wasn't entirely sure if she were being truthful or not.

When the game began, however, all of their chatter was forgotten and they were riveted on the game. Calista noticed that an awful lot of Bludgers seemed to be aimed at Marcus; she winced sympathetically when one hit him in the shoulder, but he shrugged it off and continued flying.

There was an exciting moment when both Seekers were diving, evidently having sighted the Snitch. She growled in irritation when she realised that Potter was getting there faster than Terence Higgs was.

Suddenly, there was a lot of howling in the stands - cries of foul play from the announcer - and Marcus was being scolded by the referee. She hadn't seen what he did, but even if she  _had_ , she doubted she knew the rules of Quidditch well enough to know whether the move had been illegal or not.

As the game wore on, gradually she realised that the crowd's attention had shifted; they were all looking up, impossibly high up, where a tiny figure darted around i the distant sky. Who was that, and were they up so high? Even Calista knew the Snitch wouldn't go up that far…

She took a mental inventory of the players on the field, and realised it must be Harry Potter that was up there - what was he doing, playing for attention? She frowned.

Then, suddenly, he was diving - Calista felt her heart leap into her throat when she imagined what it would be like to dive so quickly from such a height - she had never even seen Marcus go into a dive like  _that_. Was he… falling?

Then there was a huge commotion, and Potter coughed something into his hand. The Slytherins growled and hissed. She stood on her tiptoes to peer around the crowd in front of her, and saw Marcus yelling something on the field, visibly outraged.

Calista stayed behind after the crowd had mostly streamed away, and walked down to the edge of the pitch. She waited for Marcus to emerge from the locker rooms, hair wet and broomstick thrown carelessly over his shoulder. A couple of his teammates were behind him, not looking any happier.

"Hey," she said, uncertainly. His face was set in a stony mask of anger; she didn't think she'd ever seen that look on him before.

"Did you see that rubbish?" he growled, "Potter never  _caught_  the Snitch, he fucking  _ate_ it."

"Uhm," Calista wondered, "Is that - is that against the rules?"

"It  _bloody well should be_!" he yelled. Derek muttered something that sounded like an agreement.

Marcus kept walking, past her, his very footfalls conveying his ire with the situation.

After a few paces, he seemed to remember that she was there; he turned, and somewhat impatiently:

"Well, are you coming?"

She felt a flash of irritation of her own. "Why is  _everyone_  acting like such a bloody prat this week?" she snarled. "Forget it. I'll see you later, I guess."

Marcus sighed. He at least seemed to realise, belatedly, that he was not exactly being kind. "Fine. See you."

Merlin, what was  _wrong_  with everyone?

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

It was Calista's turn for a bout of disproportionate irritation during her next Transfiguration class. Once again, she had managed to fall behind, and though she was only a couple of weeks back, it set her temper to foul.

It didn't help that,  _of course_ , Olivia was once again leading the class, being the only one who had progressed to Vanishing medium animals like hares and otters. Most of the students were still working on beetles and mice; Calista was still only allowed to attempt to Vanish inanimate objects.

She supposed it was an example of how decidedly unfunny fate could be that she had been given a pencil to Vanish. It was ironic that she was having so much trouble doing so, when, back when she'd struggled for so many months on the pencil-to-ruler spell, she'd wanting  _nothing_ more than she'd wanted to Vanish the damn thing.

On top of everything else, McGonagall had reminded her after class to study with Percy, as if that weren't a weekly and irritating part of her life already. She liked Percy just fine - most of the time - but the authority of tutoring made him, she privately thought, a sanctimonious monster.  _And_ , she was sure that Olivia overheard the professor's reminder.

"The only way you're going to make your pencil vanish," Olivia cooed snidely once they were in the corridor, "Is if I feed it to my hare - oh, that's right, too late, my hare's already been Vanished. I guess you'll be spending yet another school year staring at a pencil, after all."

"Sod off, you cow."

"That's no way for a Prefect to talk, is it?"

"Good point," Calista said, "Sod off, you cow, before I take away points."

Olivia opened her mouth, undoubtedly to say something else - perhaps to insist that Calista couldn't do that, which was possibly correct but Calista was very nearly beyond caring - but Calista had caught sight of Amelia further down the hall and took off.

"Honestly," she said, once she had caught up to her friend, "I swear, it feels like the entire universe is trying to drive me mad this week."

"Oh, so you heard about our lunar maps already, then?"

"Huh? We did those weeks ago - what about them?"

"Apparently," Amelia said, "We did them all wrong. Penny said she was talking to Professor Vector after class and she's making the entire class re-do the ratios. She said even Penny was off by, like, one-fifteenth of a percent, or something. Who even  _cares_?"

"What?  _All_  of us were off? The whole class?

"Pretty much. Ugh, I  _hated_  that assignment, I don't want to do it all  _again_."

"Great," Calista mused, "What next?"

As it turned out, Calista would only have to wait until that night for her answer.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

_She was in a tiny, familiar room. All around her, dark curtains hung, obscuring what she knew to be frosted glass windows. Still, a cool grey light seeped in around the edges of the drapery._

_She eyed the room's single door suspiciously, but all was silent and still beyond… or was it?_

_Gradually, she became aware of a distant rattling, somewhere far beyond the door. She felt a familiar dread curl up in the pit of her stomach, like a hard little snake, as she approached the door. She had better find out what was happening - though, didn't she already know?_

_Something set off an alarm in her mind when she touched the cool metal of the doorknob, and she recoiled. What had she seen? A flash of something - a silver blade, a tiny potted plant that had no business having thorns, but had them nonetheless._

_It wasn't safe to open the door, then; even though she didn't quite know why, something inside her knew it was true. But the distant rattling didn't sound quite so distant anymore, and its rhythm was growing more insistent by the second. She had to investigate._

_She studied the door. It was… it was familiar, in more than just the ordinary ways. It almost felt like… like it was, somehow, placed there by herself. If that were so, could she control it in other ways besides simply opening it?_

_Experimentally, she pressed her palm flat against the wood of the door. She felt the rough grain of the wood, but she felt something else as well - a deep, gentle humming that echoed through the wood, through her skin, and seemed to resonate in her very blood._

_She took a deep breath, concentrated, and_ pushed  _again_ ,  _with her mind this time rather than her hand - then, as if she were a ghost, she was on the other side of the door. She reached out, checking the physical security of the door. It was solid, shut tight. She nodded, satisfied - and then she remembered why she was out of that room in the first place._

_Somewhere downstairs, something banged and rattled. Quickly, Calista traced her way along the long, narrow hall and down the stairs. There were a number of doors in the lower hall, some shut, some slightly ajar. She cocked her head, listening for the direction of the sound._

_It seemed to be coming from behind a closed door. She concentrated, and pushed again with her mind. She felt the gentle transition again, and then she was in a sitting room. There was a small wooden stand that looked like it ought to hold a plant - and why did that thought send a knife of fear into her heart? - but nothing else, except for the sound._

_A shuttered window let in tiny strips of grey light from beyond, and they danced across the opposite wall erratically as the shutters creaked and banged. Someone, or something, was outside and trying to get in._

_A feeling of dread began to mount in Calista, spilling from her heart and trickling down into the pit of her stomach. She stepped cautiously towards the window, fighting an instinct that told her to run back upstairs and hide in the little round room._

' _Go away', she said, staring at the violently shuddering window. She heard a cold, familiar laugh in response, a laugh that triggered in her mind the memory of pain; a flash to her left. Calista turned her head, and suddenly on the plant stand was a pot, with tiny blue flowers._

_Her heart raced, her legs were locked with a heavy feeling of doom. But there was something else, some spark in the back of her mind…_

' _Get out', she growled, and as the spark grew she identified it for what it was: a hard little star of anger. This was_ her _place after all, and she was tired of having it invaded. 'Take your bloody plant with you'._

_As if she had commanded it, the plant disappeared, leaving the stand empty once more. She heard a frustrated howl outside, and the shutters rocked and bucked with an intensity that she feared would break them._

_And then, suddenly, it stopped. Had it worked? Had she willed her mother away, as suddenly and completely as she had willed the plant away?_

_As if in response, a sly, syrupy voice slipped between the slats in the shutters, bounced off the blank unfurnished corners of the room._

' _Daughter, daughter. We don't have to play this game. We don't have to fight this battle.'_

' _I should just give in, then, is that it?' Calista whispered, knowing her mother would hear her no matter what volume she spoke at. 'Let you take me over, fall away into madness so you can do what you please?'_

' _Of course not, darling. I admit, that was my plan_ once _.'_

' _And I'm supposed to believe you've had a change of heart?' she replied, coldly. She concentrated, feeling the air around her; there was energy in this house, powerful energy and it resonated along with the threads of her mind. She could use this, if she could keep her mother too distracted to notice what she was doing._

 _Bellatrix's laugh echoed again, and Calista shivered involuntarily. 'Of course not, pet._ I _haven't changed a bit, and I suppose you've gotten too clever to ever believe otherwise. No, Daughter, it's_ you _that's changed.'_

' _Oh, is that so?' Ah. What was_ that _? Her searching mind-threads had lit upon a deep reservoir of power, one that appeared to flow gently beneath the very spot her feet were planted. But she had dreamed of this house a hundred times, and never had she noticed a basement..._

' _You were weak,' her mother's voice said, dismissively. 'Useless. And now… now, my little vessel, you are not.'_

' _I'm flattered,' Calista managed to say, as she carefully, gently, began to pull from the reservoir beneath her._

' _Once, I would have used you, it is true,' Bellatrix's voice crooned carelessly through the shutters, 'But now, we can be partners. We can resurrect the Dark Lord together, and have a share in the glory.'_

' _How do you propose to do that from your cell?' Calista snarked, feeling the depths of power from the house wrap around her like a warm, buzzing cloak._

' _Well, you'll have to come and get me out first, of course.'_

' _All right,' Calista said, quietly, 'Out. Yes, I think that's where I'd like you.'_

 _And then, with all of the strength she had in her, with all of the force that she had pulled from core of power in the newly-discovered basement of the house, she_ pushed.

_She sucked in a breath as chaos was unleashed around her - but wait, no, it wasn't around her at all. Outside, she heard a howling gale. A sudden, pouring rain battered at the shutters. Inside, however, the house felt as still and calm as it ever had. A moment later, the wind and rain outside halted suddenly. The light from the shutters shifted and glowed, and the room was suddenly bathed in a warm light, like sunrise._

_She listened, experimentally, but even before she registered the easy silence, she knew. She knew in her bones, in her heart, in the vibration of the cloak of power that still swirled around her. Bellatrix was gone._

Calista woke, half-expecting sunlight to be streaming into her dormitory room. But of course, she lived in the dungeons, so it was dim and cool when she opened her eyes. Despite that, a terrible headache pounded at her temples; she thought it might possibly be the worst one she could remember ever having.

She groaned, reluctantly pushing the blankets off herself and onto the floor. She'd better get dressed, and go find her father. She didn't dare wait to tell him about her dream, not after the last time. Besides, surely he could give her something for this awful headache.

It was quite early in the morning, but a few students were up already, rubbing sleep from their eyes and heading out, most likely to the Great Hall for breakfast. She traversed the dungeon corridors, and let herself into her father's flat.

She smelled coffee upon entering, and her headache pulsed in response. She hoped there was enough for two; if not, she'd have to brew some more, for now that she had smelled it, she had to have it.

She needn't have worried; as soon as she stepped into the kitchen, she saw that he was already setting a mug down at her customary place at the table. There was another in his hand.

"How did you know I was coming?"

"I heard you open the door," he said wryly, "Since I somewhat enjoy living, I supposed it would be prudent to pour a cup for you, as well."

"Mm. Very prudent," she managed, feeling the pain from her head radiate down her neck, causing her stomach to clench. It was good there was nothing in there; she didn't think she could hold on to it if there was. She had better be able to keep the coffee down; something told her it would help.

"You're hurt," Severus said, immediately protective, "What happened?"

"Headache. Should I insult your intelligence and tell you to sod off?" she couldn't help but growl. "That's what we do, right?"

Wordlessly, he swept out of the kitchen. She could hear him go down the hall, into his office. A moment later, he returned, holding a small bottle out to her, which she recognised as a lesser curative draught for headaches and minor pain.

"Yeah, I'm going to need something stronger than that," she said, hearing the waver in her voice as a sharp pain ran like lightning along the back of her skull.

"I had a feeling you might say that," Severus said quietly, withdrawing an even smaller bottle from the pocket of his robes. He unstoppered it, and handed it to her. She drained it without bothering to read the label, which was quite unlike her, but then, it wasn't as if he would try to poison her, now was it?

She pressed her forehead into her palms while she waited for the potion to take effect, elbows braced on the table. Her coffee mug steamed beneath her, and she thought the aroma snaking its way into her nose was the only thing keeping her calm. There was no question; this was definitely the worst headache she had ever had.

Severus continued to hover by her side, and though she wasn't looking at him, she could feel his presence. It was annoying, but she didn't have the energy to growl at the moment.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was in reality only a few minutes, Calista felt the potion begin to work; it felt something like gentle ocean waves that rolled through her head, and each one washed away just a little bit of the pain with it.

At last, the pain reached a tolerable level, and her stomach unclenched. She lifted her head and her mug in one motion and took a greedy swig of coffee.

Severus' shoulders relaxed as he let out a breath, and then he crossed to his usual seat at the table. He was quiet while he let her recover. When he heard the ceramic echo of an empty mug hitting the tabletop, he rose wordlessly and refilled the mug, setting it down before her.

She nodded a tired thanks, and drained half the second cup before she lifted her eyes to his.

"What happened? Severus asked, "Have you been getting enough sleep?"

"Evidently," Calista said, "Enough sleep to have a dream."

He was instantly alert; he sent her a questioning look, and she nodded grimly.

"Yeah. That kind. Woke up with the headache. I don't… I'm pretty sure I've never had one this bad before -"

She took in his sudden alarm, and amended her speech quickly, "Headache, I mean. The dream was… it wasn't the worst by a long shot."

She began to describe the dream, the rattling on the windows, the way she had pushed through the doors of the house without opening them.

As she talked, the potion continued to work its magic, and she felt her voice grow stronger as the last remnants of the pain faded away.

She noticed, though, that a hollow, tired sort of fog was creeping through her mind; though she'd only woken from sleep less than an hour ago, she felt as if she'd been awake for days. She wondered if it was a side effect from the potion, supposed she should have actually checked what it was before downing it.

"She… she laughed about something," Calista recalled, "And for a second, I thought I started to remember something, I felt this pain…but then, there was something else."

He leaned forward, making a small noise in his throat.

"It was anger, I realised," she said, "I was angry, that she was trying to reach me again, and I think that helped me ignore the pain. I noticed a plant was in the room all of a sudden, and I - well, I wanted it gone, and then, in an instant it was. Gone."

"That's good," Severus said, "Remember when you dreamt of a plant before, and she used it as an anchor point to enter your mind? It would seem that you prevented her from using this tactic again."

"Well, the plant was the easy part. She started talking to me, saying all this stuff about how I wasn't 'useless' anymore, and she -"

Severus interrupted. "She was speaking to you? She entered your mind, then - entered the house?"

"No," Calista said, "She was talking through the slats in the window shutters. I think. I couldn't see her, I could only hear her voice. She was saying that we could work together now, rubbish like that. Then she… she asked me to come and free her from Azkaban."

Severus' lip curled. "How, precisely, does she expect a fifteen-year-old to break her out of the strongest prison in the wizarding world?"

"Well," Calista said darkly, "I suppose it would be possible with a Time Turner. That's what they think I'd do with it, right? Nevermind that  _I'm_  the one that wants her in there more than anyone."

"How long were you speaking with her before you were able to wake up?" Severus asked, "I'm concerned - perhaps the conversation was meant to distract you. Did you check, when you woke up, to be sure there weren't traces of her influence?"

"Oh, the conversation was a distraction, for certain," Calista said, "But it was  _my_  distraction. I was angry, like I said, and I wanted  _her_  gone, just like the stupid plant. So I started feeling around, and I realised - I can't believe I never noticed before, but this house had a basement, and there was… sort of a reservoir of… I guess of strength, in it. Like a pool of whatever energy the house was made of, and I realised I could sort of tap into it. So I did."

"You forced her out with Legilimency?" Severus asked intently, leaning forward slightly.

Calista nodded tiredly. "I think so. It was like with you, during our lesson. Only this time… I pushed harder, and further. I didn't just want her at the outside edge of my mind, I wanted to push her all the way back to Azkaban. And it  _worked_ , Dad. There was like… like this violent storm outside, lightning and rain, and then she was  _gone_."

Severus was intensely quiet for a moment, eyes on his daughter. She yawned, lids heavy despite the coffee.

"You are excused from your classes today," Severus said quietly, at last. "You need to sleep."

She looked up, certain she had misheard him. Excused from an entire day of classes, because of a dream? But she could hardly argue the point; the creeping fog in her mind pressed on her, as heavy as a physical weight.

"What was  _in_  that potion?" she murmured, "It's making me so tired."

"It's not the potion," he said. "Calista… do you remember when I had to enter your mind several years ago, to free you from Bellatrix's influence?"

She shivered. "How could I forget?"

"You were not yet yourself, so you would not know this. I couldn't stay with you the day after it was done. I had to sleep for a full day, to recover. Legilimency is not meant to be used in that way; the core of your mind is meant to stay behind your barriers. Exerting such a force, letting so much of yourself beyond them, is dangerous, and it is an extreme burden on the mind. That is why you woke with such a headache, and that is why you're so exhausted."

"Why haven't you ever told me that?" she asked, a touch of irritation creeping into her voice, "I wouldn't have done it if I knew."

"Ah," he said, rising to his feet, "That would be because, up until this very instant, I had no idea that you were already capable of it."

He approached her, placed his hand gently under her elbow to help her rise. "You need to sleep now," he repeated, "Later, when you've recovered, we'll discuss how your lesson plan will change."

She groaned, letting him lead her out of the kitchen. "It's going to get more difficult, isn't it?"

"Funny," he said, as she shuffled into her old bedroom, where a tiny witchfire light still glowed on the dresser. He'd had to replace it again, a few weeks ago. "That's what I say to myself about you, every time another birthday comes around."

"Ha." She was tired, but she had enough energy to turn to him, and roll her eyes.

"I suppose we have something else to discuss, when you wake," Severus said, reluctantly. "Our… disagreement, a few days ago."

"Yes, I suppose we do," she murmured.


	5. Chapter 5

Calista slept through the entire day. When she woke, it was dinnertime. She wasn't in the mood to go to the Great Hall, and at any rate, she and her father had things to discuss. Severus had food sent to his quarters, and the two of them settled at the table, in the same places they'd occupied early that morning, and countless times before that.

"So," Severus said, "Shall we begin with our disagreement, or with your revised lesson plans?"

He sounded very much as if he hoped it would be the latter. Perhaps it was the aftermath of her dream, her successful banishment of Bellatrix, that fortified her, but she resolved in that moment to stand her ground, and point out again that the way he had treated her wasn't fair. She would be in trouble for cursing at him, certainly, but it wasn't as if he had done nothing wrong.

"The first thing," she said, setting her fork down. She was hungry, but she didn't think she could eat until they had laid this topic to rest. "The… the argument."

"Very well." He looked at her, expectantly. Odd; he was letting her take the lead on this? Normally, she knew he'd leap right into admonishing her lack of respect for him, reminding her not to curse and rage at him. Well, this was her chance to make her point. She took it, quickly, before he could change his mind.

"I know you were cross, and probably in pain, the other day, but you don't let me use those circumstances as an excuse to treat you badly so I don't see why you can do it to me. I was  _worried_  about you. I mean, I still am, really… what if you were  _poisoned_  for Merlin's sake, I knew you were short on antidote, and you said you were going in the forest soon, and there's all kinds of things in there that could've attacked you -"

"Allow me, then, to put you at ease," Severus said, calmly and neatly into a pause in her speech, "My wound is healing well, and I promise there was never any risk of poison involved."

"Okay," Calista said, and though she was relieved at this news, she pressed on. "You could've just told me that the other day, instead of… of treating me like I was a pile of dung and… and basically calling me an idiot."

She was frustrated to hear a tremble in her voice, as the memory became fresh again.

"You're right," Severus replied quietly. "I treated you badly. It was unwarranted, and I apologize."

She blinked, mouth opening slightly. "You… what?"

"I… I apologize," he repeated, with only a moderate amount of discomfort evident in his tone, "And I think you know by now that I most certainly do not consider you to be 'an idiot'."

There was a silence between them for a minute, and then Calista picked up her fork and stabbed at a piece of chicken.

"Thank you. I… uhm. I know that was hard if you hate apologising even half as much as I do. So… so I guess we can forget about it, now."

He nodded, looking relieved.

"We can forget about the part where I cursed at you, too," Calista added hopefully.

He nodded, again, which told Calista how badly he wanted the subject dropped.

"Now," he said, "We need to discuss some changes to your Occlumency and Legilimency lessons."

"What if this was just a… a one-off thing, a fluke? What I did? I've never done anything like that before."

"Actually, I suspect you have," Severus admitted, "You described finding this… reservoir of power, in the basement of the house your dreams take place in. In one of our lessons earlier this year, you gathered your strength in a similar way, and pushed me right to the edge of your barriers. I think you may have also done a similar thing when you eliminated Bellatrix's anchor points from your mind without lowering your barriers."

"But those other times, I only pushed as far as my barriers," she said, "I've never tried to go beyond them before."

"That's true; but the more I think on it, I believe the key is that you were able to access your full potential; the 'reservoir' as you called it. I think that's an apt description for the way things have been, but they are changing, and I suspect, will continue to do so."

"What do you mean?"

He chewed a mouthful of food, and the quiet stretched between them. "When you were under Bellatrix's influence," he said at last, "I had an extraordinary amount of difficulty entering your mind. Do you remember, I had to get you to help me, show me a way through?"

She nodded, unease settling into her chest. She hated remembering that time, and yet he'd asked her to do it twice today.

"Bellatrix never had even a fraction of the skill it would take to create such strong mental defences. You had the strength, but you had no idea how to use it; you didn't even know it was there. She found it, somehow, and evidently was able to twist it to her purposes and the results were - formidable."

"But you were still stronger," Calista said aloud, to remind herself that it was so, that he had managed to save her. "You got rid of her."

"Yes," he said, "And at the end of the ordeal, you still could not use your own strength the way that she managed to. I almost questioned my interpretation of what she had done, how she had done it - but then when I entered your mind again, to repair the error I had unknowingly made that day, it was plain to me that you possessed more strength than you were ever using."

"That's not true," Calista said, pushing her now-empty plate aside. She couldn't quite manage not to sound offended. "I always use all of my strength in lessons, I always try as hard as I can to keep you from breaking through my barriers."

"Ah, but when I ask you to reach further, to push just a bit harder - you always manage it, don't you?"

"Well, isn't that the whole point of my lessons? To become stronger?"

"Yes," he said, "It was."

"Was?" she echoed; what was he saying?

"I wonder if you're open to an experiment, during our next lesson," Severus said. He lifted his wand, and in a single flick of the wrist cleared the table. He leaned forward, obsidian gaze intent. "I want you to try to block me at full strength - only block - no memory manipulation, no attempt to push me back with legilimency - concentrate only on maintaining your barriers."

"Wait," Calista said, eyes widening, " _Your_  full strength, or mine?"

"Both."

"Dad, I can't - have you gone mad? There's no way I'll be able to block you for more than a few seconds."

"If what I suspect is true - if, as your dream seems to indicate, you can now access the limit of your potential unconsciously - I think you'll do much better than 'a few seconds'."

"What if your suspicions  _aren't_  right?"

"Come on, Calista," he teased drily, raising an eyebrow. "How often does  _that_  happen?"

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Marcus was pushing the team harder than ever at Quidditch practises since their embarrassing loss to Gryffindor. He had extended their practise time by forty-five minutes every week, and he was having strategy meetings with his teammates nearly every day as far as Calista could tell.

It seemed, lately, that every time she saw him in the common room, he was hunched over complicated Quidditch diagrams, and though he would often invite her to join them, she had very little interest in it, so more often than not she declined. It struck her that this was precisely how Marcus must feel every time she invited him to study with her friends.

It was not easy for her to sit still through nearly two hours of Quidditch practise now that Marcus had asked her to stop bringing her books with her, but she still went dutifully, every week. Still, it always seemed worth it, when practise ended and he strode over to her, wearing the crooked grin that  _still_  never failed to make her insides flutter.

"So," Marcus said, in her ear one Friday evening after the rest of the team had left the pitch, "You don't have your Prefect thing tomorrow, right?"

"No," Calista said, "But I do have Occ- uhm, I have extra Potions lessons, with my dad."

 _Something that I've been trying very hard_ not _to think about, thank you_ , she thought, recalling the proposal her father had made on Monday.

"Oh," Marcus said, sounding disappointed. "What time do you usually finish that?"

"Sometime after noon," she said, "But then I usually...well, I think I might be tired after my lesson, is all."

"How can you already know if you'll be tired tomorrow?" Marcus asked, trying to sound reasonable; but she didn't have to be an Occlumens to hear the irritation and hurt in his voice.

"I - Marcus, I'm not trying to avoid you, I promise. I  _want_  to spend time with you, and maybe I can. It's just… we're working on something really difficult tomorrow and I'm not sure if I'll be good company right after my lesson."

 _I'm not sure if I'll be good for_ anything  _after this lesson_. What would happen if her father was wrong, if his full-strength attempt to breach her mental barriers completely blew them apart? After such a massive effort to keep him out, it could take her hours to recover her strength enough to rebuild them; wasn't he at all concerned about  _that_?

Marcus frowned and looked unconvinced by her words. She stood up on her tiptoes, leaning in towards him. They were huddled in their customary spot by the far goalposts, and their breath fogged in front of them in the chill November air. She kissed him, lightly.

"Come on," she said, "I just waited through your whole practise, and I left my books behind like you wanted - doesn't that prove I want to spend time with you?"

"I don't know," Marcus said, with a sudden, sly little smile. "Maybe if you kissed me more…?"

She laughed, and obliged. For a few minutes, she almost managed to forget about her Occlumency lesson the next day, the seemingly impossible task she was facing.

"Tomorrow night," Marcus murmured, "After dinner. That would give you time to rest…"

"Okay," she said, because she was finding that she was in an agreeable mood all of a sudden, and anyway, it sounded reasonable. "What did you have in mind?"

"Dunno exactly," Marcus said, "Maybe we can finally check out the Prefect's bathroom… or there's always the Owlery, for old time's sake. Just...mm, somewhere we can do this, and be a little bit less cold."

"Yeah," she said, feeling her pulse quicken; she wasn't sure if it was due to excitement or fear, or… some other thing she didn't think she dared name yet. "Yeah, maybe…"

Of course, there  _was_  the whole problem of her having promised her father, a year ago,  _not_  to sneak off to be alone with Marcus… and although her Aunt Narcissa didn't seem to have a problem with it, Calista  _still_  didn't know exactly how she, herself felt about it. And even if her father did seem to treat her, in this regard, as if she were younger than she really was, she  _couldn't_  directly disobey him… could she?

"Wicked," Marcus said, grinning at her again, and lighting her insides up, "I can't wait."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista's heart was pounding when she entered her father's office on Saturday morning. He was in there, looking over a stack of papers. They didn't look like essays, but before she could see what they were, he gathered them and placed them in his desk drawer. She heard the 'click' of the lock engaging as he tapped his wand to it.

"So," he asked, "Have you considered my suggestion?"

"I feel like I've done nothing  _but_  consider it all week," she said, making an effort to tamp down her nerves, "And I thought I still hadn't decided, but the only time I can remember coming in here feeling this nervous it was to tell you I'd brewed a love potion in my wardrobe, so I guess that means I'm going to try it."

He raised a brow. "But you're not in trouble; you haven't done anything wrong."

 _Yet_. The word flashed through her mind, along with her conversation with Marcus yesterday. She forced that image down, as far as it would go. Oh, gods, she  _had_  to do well at this. Though she knew he would try not to examine her thoughts too closely, there was always a risk in these lessons that he would see something she didn't want him to.

"I hope you understand," he continued, "That this is in no way a punishment, and you can refuse if you want to, and we can continue with our lessons the way we have been; but I think it will be well worth our time to see precisely how strong your defences are, with access to the full reaches of your potential."

"How about this?" Calista suggested, "Can you ease back if… if you're getting through too quickly?"

He considered her, wondering if perhaps it would have been better to simply try the test, without telling her that was what he planned to do. He was confident that she would hold up a lot better than she was expecting to, but her fear was plain, and he hated that he - or what he had proposed - was the reason for it.

He could tell her to forget about it for now, save it for a future lesson, could go ahead with the test anyway… It would certainly ease her nerves, and, once he revealed the truth at the end of the lesson, it would surely boost her confidence.

Of course, it would also amount to lying to her; and he had so far been quite successful in keeping his promise not to. He recalled her reaction when she had learned that he'd needed to modify her mind in order to remove select memories; he didn't think he had the right to mislead her again, not when it came to legilimency, even if he could convince himself it was for her own good.

"I don't want you to be afraid," he said, finally. "I'll begin with approximately the same effort I normally do in our lessons and gradually increase it, and you can tell me to stop if you begin to feel that you can't continue. Would that put you at ease?"

She nodded, instantly looking relieved.

"Very well," he said, "Let's move to my study; that way we won't be interrupted if someone comes to complain that there's a dungbomb in the corridors, or some other nonsense. Merlin knows there's been a lot  _more_  of that sort of nonsense since those blasted Weasley twins arrived."

She managed a small smile, recalling how eerily alike her father and Percy could sound when it came to the topic of Percy's little brothers. She wondered if her father knew that Percy detested their antics nearly as much as he did.

He positioned the two chairs in his study so they faced each other, and once they had each settled in one, he looked questioningly at Calista.

She took a breath, and nodded. He looked into her eyes, and lifted his wand.

" _Legilimens,"_  he intoned softly.

She felt the familiar pressure of his intrusion at her outermost barriers. She began to reach, deep into her core, searching for the reserves of strength she knew she would need; she only hoped that his pace would be slow enough that she had time to call enough of it to her before he penetrated too far into her mind.

She shifted half of her concentration to searching for that familiar reservoir, and was startled to find that she could not locate it - but yet, it didn't feel like it was  _missing_ , exactly, either. She was pulling, but there was nothing to pull from - this had never happened before, she had to tell him to stop.

But he was still allowing her time to gather her strength; she sensed that he had not yet breached her first barrier, though she knew from experience that he easily could have done so by now.

She recalled a time, years ago, when she had struggled to find reserves of strength she'd hardly been aware she even possessed. What had her father instructed her?  _Like calls to like_ , he'd told her - if she just scanned her mind for the familiar, she should be able to find the place that her reserves were hidden, right?

She tried it - concentrated on the psychic signature of her own mental barriers, and  _listened_  for some ripple of reply that would tell her where she could draw a similar strength from.

There; she heard it, but -

It was all around her, in every crevasse of her mind, wrapped around her very core like a warm cloak. She hadn't even had to reach for it, it was just  _there_.

Feeling a flood of encouragement, she concentrated on directing and molding the energy, molding it seamlessly into her existing barriers. It was just in the nick of time that she had figured this out, for she could feel the pressure on her outermost barrier increasing. She didn't think she had enough time to reinforce it before he would make it through, so she concentrated on her other barriers, instead.

She was tempted to mix in some of the other tactics they usually practised, rearranging and redirecting her memories and emotions, but he'd asked her not to for the purposes of this experiment. She had to do just one thing, though; she located the memory of her and Marcus' conversation from the prior evening, and of her conversation a few weeks ago with her Aunt Narcissa, and she tucked them away behind her third and final barrier, just in case.

He'd breach it eventually, of course, long before he even approached his full strength, but she knew that his practise was to withdraw from her mind immediately after breaching this final barrier, out of respect for her privacy, so anything she kept back there was generally safe from discovery.

She felt him break through her first barrier, and immediately, she began to weave the threads of it into her remaining barriers; this, she had practised so many times that it was nearly instantaneous. She checked, quickly to be sure that she had not left any weak spots when she'd reinforced her barriers. She couldn't find any, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't.

She was accustomed to nuanced attacks, and to responding to them in kind, but this experiment was different; it was a battle of sheer strength of will. In some ways, it was more difficult for her to let go of the other tactics she knew and remind herself to focus only on holding her walls, but as she felt the strength of her father's attack increase, it was imperative to do so.

She judged, from what he'd told her after prior lessons, that he was operating at about half of his full strength when she felt him break through the second wall, after perhaps ten minutes of effort.

She was glad that he hadn't yet increased his attack too far beyond what they'd done in prior lessons, but she knew that, as he approached her third and final barrier, that was surely about to change...

With a light, fluid effort, she drew the remnants of her first two barriers back, molding that strength into the third. Out of habit, she reached, searching for a further reserve of strength, and she felt nothing but the solidness of her innermost barrier in response.

It was terrifying to reach and find nothing, even though it was plain to her that her barriers, or this third one at least, were more solid and strong than anything she'd ever constructed before.

She braced herself for the increase in his strength that she knew was coming. There was an increase in the intensity of his attack, though it came more slowly than she expected. Certainly, resisting his attack was not easy, it never was, but she was finding that it was just at the upper limit of manageable. She supposed he might be operating at a bit more than half of his full strength now, but she had no way of knowing, because she'd never felt it before.

She felt a tendril of his thoughts snaking through her mental wall, and focused on repairing the barrier even as his attack kept hammering at. As long as her efforts were on strengthening the wall and not on directly pushing back, she supposed it still fell within the confines of the experiment.

Eventually, though, the effort of constantly rebuilding the wall began to drain her. She felt her response time slowing, and felt the pressure of his intrusion begin to overtake the speed at which she could repair the wall.

"Stop," she managed to say, and her voice sounded weary. Immediately, the pressure eased and she felt him withdraw. She realised she had a sheen of sweat on her forehead; she wiped it away with the back of her hand. She was startled to see him mirror her action, wiping away a bead of sweat from his own brow.

He glanced at the wall clock in his study. "Twenty minutes," he told her, quietly.

"Yeah," she said, "And that was what - half of what you can do? Maybe a little more. I told you, there's no way I can block you at full strength if I -"

"Calista. You just did."

She blinked rapidly. "What? No I didn't…"

He nodded, almost grimly. "By the time I reached your second barrier, I was no longer holding back."

He let her absorb the truth of his words. Hell, he had to absorb it as well. He'd expected her to do quite well, but as usual, she had done even better than he'd expected. True, he would have broken through momentarily if she hadn't ask him to stop, but even his paranoidly overprotective mind could not envision many real-world scenarios where she would need to hold out against such a rigorous and continuous attack.

"Your lessons need to change," he told her, "I need to teach you the proper precautions of using legilimency; you need to learn how to do so safely and, of course, there is a certain standard of integrity you need to stick by, more or less, when using it offensively."

"But what about guarding my mind?" she asked, " _She_ ' _s_ still trying to reach me."

"You are very good at maintaining your barriers, even in your sleep; you've just proven that you can incorporate the core of your strength into them at very little notice. You will keep practising that, of course, and continue to inform me of any attempts she makes to reach you."

He rose, offering a hand to help her up as well. She still felt tired; she took it, and he led her to the kitchen where he immediately began to brew a large batch of coffee.

"I suspect," he said, over his shoulder, as she slipped into her usual chair, "That you've already rebuilt your three barriers?"

"Of course," she said, and he nodded.

"You might try adding a fourth, if it makes you feel more secure. I think you have the strength for it, though it's not strictly necessary."

The dark fragrance of coffee filled the room, and even before a steaming mug of it was set in front of her, she felt herself perk up. This had been, without a doubt, one of her more exhausting lessons. But still…

"I'm not as exhausted as I thought I'd be," she said, as he sat down across from her with his own mug. "I mean, I was at first, but it's not… it's not like some other lessons, or after that dream."

"Legilimency, as a rule, takes more out of you than occlumency does," he told her, "But as you're aware, you'll need to incorporate both arts to have the best possible defence. We will work a lot more on that as well. You're reasonably adept at altering memories and redirecting emotional responses, I think; we'll practise that more, and eventually, you should learn to chain thoughts and feelings together, to lead the person invading your mind down a path of your own choosing. And you will need to learn how to conceal your efforts. That is, ultimately, the best defence you can have."

"It sounds difficult," she said, but he noted that she sounded interested, encouraged.

"It is possibly the most difficult aspect of the most difficult magical art there is. You won't master it any time soon, even at your pace; but, I do think you will eventually get there."

She grinned into her coffee cup; he could tell that she was excited, and also pleased at the implied compliment. He smiled a little too, briefly.

"There is one other thing you should be doing," he said after a moment, with an exhale that was nearly a sigh. "Your emotional reactions… I know you can hide them, because you do it in your lessons frequently enough. It might be prudent to practise that on a more… regular basis."

"Why now, though?" she wondered, "I mean, it's not like anyone is going to hurt me here at school, right?"

He regarded her silently for a moment. There was an intensity in his gaze that set her slightly on edge.

"They had better not attempt it."

 _Shit_. This  _had_  to be about Marcus; he must have seen something of her conversation with him or perhaps even with Narcissa. She tried very hard to keep the memory away now, and to school her expression to whichever one she thought would make him most likely to think he had nothing to worry about.

"I'll… uhm, I'll try harder to hide my expressions more often, then."

He nodded, and then he said something she wasn't expecting, something that made her doubt this conversation had anything to do with her boyfriend, after all.

"You guard more than your own secrets. That will only become truer as time goes on."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

"So," Marcus said into her ear, as he slid next to her on the bench of the study table she occupied, pushing her gently over with his weight to make room. "Have you thought about where you want to go tonight? After dinner?"

She glanced up; a few students were scattered through the library, studying. Gerald Boot was hunched over a stack of books a few tables away, and he had glanced up warily when Marcus entered the library, but but neither he nor anyone else seemed to be paying them any mind, now.

"Uhm. Not really. How did you know I'd be here?"

He snorted. "Lucky guess. So… I heard Derek's gonna try to sneak Olivia into the Prefects' bathroom tonight, so I was thinking maybe we could go up to the Owlery."

"Derek and  _Olivia_? That explains why he's been such an insufferable prat all year, I guess. And of course she'd try to get someone to sneak her on there; she'll probably be talking about it for ages, trying to make everyone jealous. I wonder if I could take points away for that..."

"But she's in our house," Marcus said, "And anyway, Derek's my friend and I don't want him getting in trouble for bringing her in. Ah, man, maybe I shouldn't've told you. I forget you're actually a Prefect sometimes…"

"What's  _that_ supposed to mean?"

He chuckled. "Nothing, forget it. Just… forget the whole thing I told you about Derek and Olivia too, okay?"

She opened her mouth to argue, but he quickly covered it with his own.

" _Marcus_ ," she whispered, pulling back, "There's people in here…"  _Including that blasted Boot._ Wasn't Marcus worried that Boot might overhear and tease him for this, later? 

"Mm, good point," he murmured, settling his hand on her leg, under the desk. She tried not to feel nervous about where he had placed it, but then - was it her imagination, or was he moving it, slowly?

"That's why we have to go somewhere else," he continued, quietly, "Somewhere there  _aren't_  people."

"So… so I was thinking about that," she said, quietly. She had thought about it, in fact, quite a lot, and part of the reason she was even here in the library was because she had  _hoped_  to delay this precise conversation for a few hours more. "I don't know if we can… be alone, I mean. Remember what my dad said, when he said we could date? That we can't… uhm, sneak off alone together?"

"But that was  _ages_  ago…"

"Well, I'm pretty certain it still applies despite that," she said drily; she saw his face fall, before he turned it away from her.

"I just think," he finally said, still not looking at her, "That maybe you should've told me that. You've been making it sound all year like you might actually want to spend some time with me…"

" _Marcus_ ," she whispered again, "Of course I want to spend time with you, but… you know, I have to follow rules, and -"

"Of course. Rules," Marcus snarled, and she winced as his voice rose enough that it was nearly impossible to hope no one had heard. "You love them almost as much as books. How could I have ever forgotten you're a Prefect?"

" _Me?_ Love rules? If only my dad could hear you say that. And, anyway," she said, much quieter than he had, but unable to keep a touch of irritation creeping into her voice, though she wasn't sure who it was for - him, herself, her father? "What was it that you said you told my dad before? You just wanted to be able to kiss me, right? Well, we can still do that, after your practise and things…"

"Calista," Marcus said again, "That was  _ages_  ago."

"So?"

"So… so we're sixteen now, obviously it's a little  _different_."

She blinked, feeling something harden in the pit of her stomach. This was not going at all how she hoped. She wanted him to deny wanting to escalate things physically… didn't she? But then, why was her heart racing again?

"I'm fifteen," she reminded him, because it was the only thing she could think to say in the moment that felt safe.

He sighed, and reached for her under the table; she started, slightly, but then realised he was only reaching for her hand.

"What do you  _want_ , Calista?" he asked her quietly, urgently. "Forget about rules for a minute. If we could do go anywhere and do whatever we wanted, what would you want to do?"

"I don't… I don't know," she said, feeling a familiar heat in her cheeks and maybe somewhere else.

"It's just," he said, "I've been trying to move pretty slow, you know, but it kind of seems like… like maybe it's still not slow enough for you."

"Uhm," she said, wishing she could Vanish herself in that moment, "This is… this is slow?" His kisses, these last few months, had always seemed  _hungrier_  somehow, and even though she kind of enjoyed it, she wasn't sure how she felt about his new habit of letting his hands wander when they kissed. She supposed it was a bit like flying… she liked it, sort of, but it made her extremely nervous.

"Are you serious?" he asked, "We've been dating for almost two years and I still haven't even seen-"

"Seen what?" she whispered, when he stopped suddenly.

Marcus sighed, looking like he wanted to Vanish as well. "You know," he mumbled, and then looked pointedly towards her chest.

She folded her arms across her chest reactively, dropping his hand in the process. "There's nothing there to see anyway," she muttered, knowing her face was red as a beet; so much for hiding her reactions.

"That's… uh, that's definitely not true," Marcus said, gaze still fixed in the same spot, as if it would help him see through her arms.

"It's only been a year," she said, because she was finding the facts of this conversation to be much more tolerable than the feelings of it, "Since we were officially allowed to date. It was at Christmas, remember?"

"Yeah, okay, but we were  _together_  way before that, really. And anyway, a year is still a really long time…"

"So… so then what else do  _you_  want, then? If there were…" she swallowed. "If there were no rules."

"Well," Marcus said, and he looked, pointedly, towards her chest again. "You know one thing now, obviously…I dunno, though, I just want… I guess I'd want to just, you know, be alone and kind of see where things end up. I don't really want to  _plan_  everything."

"See, that sounds frightening to me," she said, quietly, letting her hands drop into her lap. "I don't like - I don't like not knowing how something's going to turn out," she managed.

He reached for her hands again, this time taking both of them in his own. She noticed that his voice was rising slightly, again. "Calista, I'm not trying to scare you. I just… look, I'm  _attracted_ to you, you know? That means I… uh, I think about things. But I don't expect - I mean, you don't have to… you know I'd never  _make_  you do something if you don't want to, right? Even if we were alone."

"As if you could," she said, injecting force and a small amount of humour into her tone. "You know I could hex you if you tried."

"I, uh… I have to be honest with you," Marcus said quietly. "That's uhm... kind of hot. Probably not what you were going for, eh? But seriously, I wouldn't, anyway. You know that, right? I just… I just want things to start going  _somewhere_."

"I guess… I guess that's okay," she said, struggling to sort through her feelings, her reservations, and - perhaps most difficult of all - the parts of her that agreed with him, at least in some way. "But I'm still not allowed… and I think, maybe - I know you don't want to 'plan' anything, but I think we do need a plan for… for what should happen if you… uhm, if we… you know, if something…if I don't want…"

"How about this?" Marcus murmured, "If you can talk to your dad or your aunt and get them to let you spend time alone with me, I'll ask you before I try anything new. Like… like when I kissed you the first time, remember?"

She nodded. She did remember; it was part of what had put her at ease in the first place, in a situation she couldn't previously have imagined being comfortable with. "That might… that might be okay," she said, "But I don't really think my dad's going to agree to changing the rules…"

"Maybe if you ask your aunt, she can convince him? That worked before, right?"

"I don't know…" She was glad that she hadn't already told him what her aunt had said, when she'd asked. She knew he'd want to take her aunt's advice as permission; but she couldn't, could she? Perhaps if she could speak to her aunt again at Christmas, she'd have a better idea what to do. "I'll… I'll try."

Marcus nodded. "I guess that's the best I can hope for right now, right?" He glanced down, and then, feeling her gaze, immediately back up to her face.

"Would you  _stop_  that?" she growled, louder than she'd intended. "I can tell what you're doing."

"Sorry," he said, but he didn't sound terribly convincing.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Severus and Calista went to the Malfoys' again for Christmas dinner, though they didn't stay overnight this time. Severus seemed loathe to leave the castle on Christmas morning, and he was eager to return once the meal was finished, though etiquette did demand they stay a bit longer than that.

Calista didn't have time to speak to Narcissa about Marcus, especially since Draco was home from school for the first time and he positively dominated the dinner conversation.

"I expect I'll be on the Quidditch team for certain next year," he said, during the dessert course, "Calista's going to talk to her boyfriend for me, aren't you?"

She coughed, nearly choking on a mouthful of pudding. "I told you, he's going to let you try out next time there's an opening. The Seeker's a seventh year, and one of the other Chasers. I'm sure he'll give you a fair shot."

"A fair shot?" Draco echoed imperiously, "Do you think Potter got a fair shot? No; he got on the team because he's Dumbledore's favourite and the stupid Boy-Who-Lived. He's got no actual  _talent_."

"Well, fine," Calista snapped, "The Gryffindor team is corrupt, then. But the Slytherins are  _not_ , and I'm not going to … to  _manipulate_  Marcus into letting you on the team, and I think I've made that pretty clear already."

Draco glowered, but Lucius chuckled. "Who said anything about manipulation?" he cut in smoothly, "Tell me, what model broomsticks are the team using?"

"Uhm," Calista said, feeling her cheeks turn a little bit pink. She supposed this was something she ought to know. "I'm… not exactly sure."

"Potter's got a Nimbus 2000," Draco cut in acidly, "And first years aren't even supposed to  _have_  brooms."

"Watch your tone, Draco," his father reminded him, in a tone that brooked no nonsense. Draco frowned, but murmured an apology.

"Sorry, sir."

"Perhaps you can find out," Lucius said, innocuously, to Calista, "If young Mr. Flint is in the market for an upgraded broomstick."

Severus made a small noise in his throat; Calista wasn't sure if it was in response to Lucius' suggestion, or a warning for her not to respond with visible outrage.

"Lucius," Narcissa cut in gently, before Calista could respond at all, "Perhaps it's best not to ask Calista; she may not feel right about it, even though of course Draco deserves a spot on the team. Can't you reach out to Oberon instead, have him talk to his son?"

Lucius considered. "Yes, I suppose I can."

After dinner, they had the usual lavish exchange of presents, and Calista was once again presented with more clothing and cosmetics than she could possibly have a use for. She noted, a bit unhappily, that there were no trousers for underneath her robes this year, only skirts, and a half dozen blouses, each one more delicate and more embellished than the last. Evidently, Narcissa was not giving up on her mission to dress Calista just like herself. She gave her shoes again too, pretty black ones with tall heels that had snakes going up the backs of them. She supposed they were stylish, but she had no idea how to walk in such things and no intention of learning how.

She had two new books of curses, as well; one from her father and the other, a bit surprisingly, was from Lucius.

She flipped through the contents, realised she knew about half of the spells listed already, from practising with her father. When she said so, Lucius looked pleased.

"I should have guessed you'd be teaching her," he said approvingly to Severus, "I hope there are a few new ones in there, at least."

Their visit lasted only another hour or two, and then Severus was eager to return to the castle. He said he had things to do, but Calista knew he was already caught up with marking essays. She meant to question him, but when they arrived back at the castle, he surprised her with another gift.

"Come downstairs with me a moment?" he'd said, when they arrived back at the castle. She followed him to his quarters, and into his basement workroom. There, she'd seen neat packets and small jars all lined up next to his cauldron.

She grinned. She knew what this meant; they were going to make a new potion. She approached the worktop eagerly, reading labels of the assembled ingredients.

"Asphodel root, wormwood, sopophorous beans, sloth brain… we're going to make a Draught of Living Death?"

He smiled fondly, at the evident excitement in her voice. "You are, under my eye. Ah, well, first, you'll need to create an infusion with the wormwood."

"Does it work better that way?" she wondered, "With a fresh infusion?"

"Marginally," he said, "More importantly, it's good practise."

"I think the recipe is in one of the books you lent me," she said, "Should I bring it, or do you have another copy?"

"Actually," he said, "We won't be using the written recipe; I've got a better one that I want you to try."

"So, when can we start?" she asked, "Tonight?"

He chuckled. "You've got to let the wormwood simmer for several hours to create the infusion. No, we'll need all day for this. Friday, perhaps?"

The team didn't practise over the holidays, and at any rate, Marcus had gone home for the week, so that meant she had no plans. "Perfect," she said.


	6. Chapter 6

When Calista arrived in her father's office on Friday for her Potions lesson, she had to squeeze by Argus Filch in the corridor, who was just leaving. He nodded at her, perhaps in some attempt to imitate a friendly gesture, and she sneered in response. Likely, he wanted something from her father, though she couldn't imagine what. Either way, she had not forgotten her own encounters with him.

"What did  _he_  want?" she snarled, as she entered her father's office.

"None of your concern, I assure you," Severus said, rising from his desk. She heard him close the drawer, heard the click of the lock engaging. "Did you eat breakfast?"

She nodded. "I don't like him," she said, darkly. "He's creepy."

"Be that as it may, he is integral to the security of this school, and as such, I have business with him at times. I assure you, if it ever concerns you I will let you know immediately."

She rolled her eyes, but followed him downstairs to his workroom. "Incidentally," Severus said, as he watched her pick up the jar of wormwood and remove a chunk of it, "You can help me with security, too. You'll need three good-sized pieces of that, by the way, but you should bring your water to a rolling boil first."

She counted out three pieces, and set them aside. She filled the cauldron with a jet of clear water with her wand, and at the same time, wordlessly and wandlessly lit a magical flame beneath the cauldron. It was the first piece of magic aside from occlumency that she'd ever performed, and Severus smiled a little to himself to see that she still had a knack for performing it wandlessly; not because it was terribly difficult - it wasn't - but because he remembered how pleased she'd been the first time it had ever worked for her.

"How can I help?" she wondered. He wasn't going to ask her to rat out Daisy and the other second-years now, after he'd given her permission to teach her some hexes, was he?

"I need you to report to me anyone that tries to enter the Restricted section of the library, during your patrols."

"Even if they're not in Slytherin?"

"Even if they're not a student."

"What? But if they're not a student… I mean, teachers can enter whenever they want, right?"

"They can. I'm not asking you to stop them; I'm asking you to report them to me."

"Even… even students with a pass?"

He nodded. She shrugged. "All right… hm. There must be something  _really_  interesting in there, then."

He watched her as she checked the water. It was just beginning to gently bubble, but it wasn't quite there yet. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but before the words were out, she glanced back at him.

"Almost," she said, "Is there anything else I should do with the wormwood before it goes in?"

"Not for a pure infusion. Calista."

"Mm?"

"Please be careful."

She scowled. "I  _am_  being careful, and anyway it's just water at this point…"

"I'm not talking about the potion. I believe there is someone at Hogwarts with questionable intentions, and there was an attempt on Christmas to break into the Restricted section in the dead of night; I don't know who it was. I don't know how they would react to being caught. Unless it's a student entering, you should try to be unobtrusive, and come report it to me immediately."

"Why the library?" she wondered, "Is there… some new book in there, or something?"

He sighed. "I don't know what, if anything, they want from the library. More than that, I most certainly do not want  _you_  trying to find out. Just report to me, please. Don't try any investigating on your own."

"I wasn't really considering it until you told me not to," she teased, carefully lowering the chunks of wormwood into the cauldron as the water reached a healthy, vigorous boil.

"Calista."

"I know, I know," she said. "I was joking."

"I think you know by now, I don't particularly enjoy jokes about your safety."

She snorted. "You don't particularly enjoy any jokes."

She expected a retort of some kind; when it didn't come, she softened and looked at him questioningly. "Dad? There isn't  _really_  any danger, is there? I mean, beyond the forest and… and whatever's in the third-floor corridor…"

He started. "What?"

"Well, I imagine there's  _something_ dangerous there; the Headmaster told us to avoid it unless we wanted to die a 'most painful death'. Doesn't sound like a secret herd of puffskeins."

He was quiet for a moment. She checked the cauldron; it still boiled gently.

"Ten more minutes at a boil," he said, "Then you need to cover it and let it simmer for a few hours."

"So," she said, lightly, "No stern reminders to stay away from the third-floor corridor?"

"Do you need one?"

"I guess not. 'Painful death' doesn't really appeal to me. Besides, I know you would 'forget' to feed Yellow."

She'd hoped to make him laugh, but his expression was deadly serious. She shivered.

"I suspect the castle may well be harboring someone quite dangerous. I hope that I am wrong."

"But how often are your suspicions wrong?" she murmured, recalling their conversation the other day.

"Hopefully, just this once," he said, nodding towards the cauldron. She lowered the flame and placed a heavy, vented cover on the cauldron. "Calista, please humour me, and promise me you'll be careful. Tell me of anyone trying to access the Restricted section, and anyone that just seems… off."

She raised an eyebrow. "Besides that creep Filch? I'll keep an eye out."

He motioned her upstairs. "We'll check the infusion in an hour and a half, though I suspect it will need far longer than that to properly reduce. We can practise some curses, if you like, in the meantime."

They practised a few she already knew, and he showed her a new one, a modified Severing Charm that was meant as a combative spell; it would also cause painful swelling in the wounds it created, though it didn't cut as deep as some other similar spells.

He conjured a ratty training dummy, one that he often used if he needed to demonstrate a spell before having her attempt it; though he insisted on her trying the spells on him, he would never demonstrate them on her.

" _Diffindus Aculeus!_ " he intoned, demonstrating the incantation and the wand movement. The dummy's covering ripped open in several spots.

"It looks like a regular Severing Charm," she ventured, and he nodded.

"On the dummy, it does," he said, "On an opponent, it will appear a good deal messier. Are you ready to try it?"

"I don't want to hurt you," she said quietly, not for the first time.

"It will be temporary," he said, "I am prepared for it."

He waited, while she gathered her nerve. She nodded, and mimicked the motion, the incantation, that he had shown her.

" _Diffindus Aculeus_ ," she said. Small slashes appeared in the fabric of his robes his robes, and a visible cut snaked up above his collar, a faint red line at his collarbone. She saw the flesh begin to rise, pink welts forming.

"Okay," Calista said, nervously, "Undo it."

"Try it again,' he commanded, gently. "That was weak; I know you can do better."

"But you're bleeding -"

"Yes," he said, with a finality that verged on impatience, "And I will be, until after you cast it properly. Go on."

 _You have to be angry_ , she reminded herself.  _That's what makes curses work_.

Suddenly, she remembered a Defence Against the Dark Arts class from a few months ago; recalled the strange way Professor Quirrell looked at her, the way his gaze made her skin crawl, the way his goading had caused Olivia to laugh at her.

" _Diffindus Aculeus!"_  she said again, hotly, this time, and then, "Oh! I'm sorry -"

She lowered her wand, and rushed to her father's side; the new slashes were much longer; blood oozed slowly from them, and the skin rose in angry red welts.

Severus sucked in a breath, and reached into the pocket of his robes. She saw him fumbling with a vial, and she took it quickly and unstoppered it for him. It was a medium-grade wound-healing potion she recognised, but she knew that it did nothing for pain.

He downed the draught, and the slashes began to close. The swelling began to go down, but far more slowly; the red faded to pink.

"Isn't there a spell?" Calista asked, anxiously, "A countercurse?"

"There is not," he said quietly, "The potion only takes a few moments. Your second attempt was… quite impressive."

"I'm sorry -" she started again, and he shook his head.

"I  _want_  you to cast like that," he said, "If you're ever attacked. Furthermore… Calista, Dark magic is not pretty, and it comes at a cost. I want you to learn it, but I also want you to understand the cost, so you never abuse it."

She reached out, delicately, tracing a line of pink that still marred the base of his neck. "Does it still hurt?"

"It does," he said, grimly, because he never lied to her, "But it's fading."

"I don't want to practise anymore today."

He nodded. "I don't think you need to."

"Is there… is there anything I can do to help?"

He considered. "Make some coffee?"

She nodded, and scurried around him into the kitchen; he waited until he heard her footsteps cross the threshold, before he allowed a grimace of pain to cross his features. Only when the pain had largely subsided and he knew he had control of his expression again did he join her in the kitchen.

They finished their coffee, her casting repeated anxious glances at him, until, finally, he set his mug down firmly, and leveled a no-nonsense look at her.

"I'm fine," he told her, "Would you please stop looking at me like I'm going to drop dead at any moment?"

"Sorry."

He sighed. He supposed it was a good thing that she was so affected by seeing the damage one of her spells had caused, but he had to admit he felt badly about it anyway; maybe he shouldn't have taught her this one, yet. But then… he had been quite serious when he'd expressed his fear that there was danger in the castle this year, though he didn't think she was a target. Nevertheless, the more spells she had in her arsenal to defend herself with, the better, he thought.

"Let's check on your wormwood infusion, shall we?"

They went downstairs, and Calista lifted the lid carefully, keeping her hands and face clear of the steam. Severus watched her stir the contents with a wooden spoon, look carefully at the consistency, and recover it. "A few more hours," she said, and he nodded. He didn't need to double-check to know she was likely right; he expected the infusion to take another couple of hours anyway.

"I used to have to bring one of the kitchen chairs down here, so you could reach the cauldron to stir it," he said, noting that she was very nearly as tall as he was these days. He glanced down at her feet, to see if she was wearing the tall shoes Narcissa had given her for Christmas. She wasn't.

"I remember you used to pick me up to reach, sometimes," she said, turning towards him with a small smile.

He nodded. "You would get frightened, though… I didn't risk it too often."

"I remember that, too. I… it's hard not to. I still… you know, if someone touches me unexpectedly, I still startle, especially if I don't know them well. I - I hate it, but I can't help it."

"I know."

She sighed. Perhaps this wasn't the best time… but then, would there ever be a good time for this?

"But, Dad… I don't have to stand on chairs to reach the cauldron anymore. I know you don't like to believe it, but I'm not really a child anymore."

She expected him to argue, to snap that it was a point ripe for debate. Instead, he just looked sad.

"I know."

It was the first time he had ever admitted it; for some reason, it made her feel the sting of tears behind her own eyes. She forced them back.

"But I… I know I'm not an adult yet, either," she ventured, partly to console him and partly because she had a sudden need to say it aloud, herself.

He sneered, but there was no malice in it. "I know."

"So… so that's why I have to ask you something. You won't like it, but I hope you'll hear me out  _before_  you snarl at me."

"I'll do my best," he said, already doubting it would be possible.

"I'm fifteen," she reminded him, "I'll be sixteen in a few months. I've been dating Marcus for over a year any way you look at it -"

"This better not be going where I think it's going," he snarled.

"You said you'd wait, on the snarling," she reminded him.

"No, I said I'd try my best. I am."

"I just… I'm not asking for a lot. I'm just sick of… of having to always be in view of other people when I'm with Marcus. I want to be able to have a little privacy, sometimes."

"We had an agreement, for you to pursue your… relationship. That wasn't part of it."

"Yes," she said, forcing herself to take an even tone. She had to, if she had any hope of convincing him this wasn't an unreasonable request. "We did have an agreement, and I've followed it. I won't break your rules; that's why I'm asking for your permission now, instead of just going to the Prefects' bathroom like everyone  _else_ seems to be doing - do you even know about that, by the way?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Of course I know; and I have been trusting that you would not go there with anyone. Please tell me I have not misplaced my trust."

"I've never gone at all," she said, "And I don't  _want_  to. Alone or… or definitely with anyone else."

He looked unconvinced; he also looked he might spit fire at any moment.

"You really don't need to worry about that," she said quietly, "Not as long as I have these horrible scars on my back… I can never let anyone see that…"

She hadn't meant to tear up again, but there it was.

"I elected not to lecture you about the Prefects' bathroom at the beginning of the year," he said quietly; his own ire seemed tempered with sadness now, as well, "Because I felt that, too often, you feel judged for things beyond your control. Your mother's identity; the rejected Time Turner application; the… the scars on your back. You've shown, for the last year, that I  _can_ trust you, and I didn't want to start making you feel as if I didn't; the rules for not sneaking off alone were clear, I thought. The introduction of a new venue shouldn't have made a difference."

"I know, Dad. And I told you, I'm not asking to go there. I'm just asking… for a  _little_  more privacy, sometimes."

"I can't have you going off behind locked doors with that boy," Severus finally said, "If that's what you're asking for, the answer is no."

"Not locked doors, then," she said, "But there's got to be some compromise between that and the far end of the Quidditch pitch, in the freezing cold, where anyone can walk by and… and tease us."

He lifted a brow suspiciously. "Is that where you've been going? That's out of sight of the castle; I'm not sure if I approve."

" _Dad_ ," she pleaded, "Come on. You admitted it; I'm not a small child."

"But you're still  _my_  child," he said, almost petulantly. "And anyway, have you spoken to your aunt about this? I specifically asked her to talk you out of any of this kind of thinking -"

"Yes, I did."

"And? What did she say?"

 _She told me you treat me like a child, and she won't. She told me my own comfort level is the real limit I should be following_ , she thought, but she didn't feel right about betraying her aunt, when her aunt had always held her confidence.

Instead she said, "She told me I should talk to you."

"I don't like this," Severus said plainly.

"Dad, I'm not… I'm not planning on what you're thinking about."

"I rather believe that you're not," Severus said, "But what if he is?"

"He's not," she said, and then because she supposed she had been mostly honest thus far, added, "I don't think. But even if he was, you know, I've made it pretty clear that I wouldn't be above hexing him if I had to."

He frowned. "I don't like this," he said again.

She sighed.

"And yet, you have followed my rules," he continued, " Though you figured out, far sooner than I would have hoped, a way around them and  _didn't_ take it. You spoke to your aunt, and to me, and you're being honest. If I refuse to grant you any leeway after that, it makes quite a poor case for insisting that you continue to handle things that way, doesn't it?"

"If you tell me no," Calista said quietly, "Then the answer is no. Maybe I won't be happy with you, but I'm not going to go behind your back again."

"Then I dearly wish I could just tell you no," he said, unhappily, "But your aunt keeps telling me I'm being too strict, that you'll need more freedom as you get older, and it's plain that you're more mature now than you were when I first set you those limits. And I certainly believe, after today, in the strength of your hexes, if it comes to that…"

He allowed a small, dark chuckle. She watched him, anxiously.

"No locked doors," he said, "And no closed doors, either. And - neither one of us wants to hear this reminder, but you are absolutely not ever, under any circumstances, having sex before you are of age, and if he for an instant thinks there's cause for an exception to that, you'd better hex him before I get to him."

"Dad, I promise you, that's not going to be an issue." She felt her cheeks turn pink, but mercifully, she was able to keep most of her embarrassment buried inside.

He nodded, tightly. "All of the other rules still apply," he reminded her, "Your grades must not suffer; you must never go out of bounds, or be out past curfew. And in case it wasn't clear enough - open doors only.  _Fully_  open. Is that understood?"

She nodded, solemnly. She could hardly dare believe he'd agreed to even this much freedom. It made her a lot more nervous than she thought it should have done; hadn't she, truly, expected him to say no, no matter how she presented her case?

"Now. Let's check your wormwood infusion - I believe it's time for us to create a Draught of Living Death, which seems suddenly very apt."

She lifted the cauldron, checked the contents. "I think it's nearly done."

He checked it as well, leaning over her shoulder.

"Another twenty minutes," he said, and then, casually: "Oh, there is one more condition I forgot to mention, regarding this new freedom for yourself and Mr. Flint."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"It's been far too long since I reminded him how very much it is in his best interests not to hurt you."

"Dad? What are you going to do…?"

"Sufficiently terrify him, I hope. Oh, and don't warn him ahead of time. I want to be sure he gets the full impact of my words."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

"Hey," Marcus said, uneasily, a few days after the holidays had ended,approaching the study table she had claimed in the Slytherin common room. "Can I… can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Of course," she said, closing the cover of the book she was reading, leaving her parchment inside to mark her place. "Sit down."

He did so, hesitating. He craned his neck, reading the title of her book upside-down.

" _Romanian Runelore_ ," he said. "Sounds… erm, sounds like something you'd like."

"Professor Flitwick lent it to me. It's pretty interesting."

"So, erm… you didn't… Calista, you didn't tell your dad about, uh…"

He leaned forward, whispering; she could barely hear him.

"That thing I said. About wanting to see, uhm, your… you know… did you?"

" _Shut up_ ," she hissed back, glancing around to see if anyone had overheard, though it was next to impossible with how quiet he had been. "Are you mad? Of course I didn't…"

He exhaled, looking visibly relieved. "Good. although now I don't have any idea what's actually going on, then…"

"What happened?"

"Well, you know I have remedial lessons with him, right?"

Actually, she'd admittedly forgotten about that; and because studying was always the last thing Marcus wanted to do when they were spending time together, she had been neglecting her promise to help him improve his marks. She nodded, rather than admit she had forgotten.

"Well, we went into his office this time," he said, "And he started pointing out all these different poisons, which I thought was weird, because I'm still working on basic antidotes. He started telling me all about what they do… one of them stops your heart, one of them dissolves your intestines, from the inside out, it was pretty gruesome. And then he goes, all creepy-like - sorry, but it was - 'Do you know how to craft the antidotes to any of these poisons, Mr. Flint?' and of course I told him I don't and he just gives me this  _look_ …"

Calista winced. "I'm sorry."

"And then earlier today I was out at the pitch, just practising a few moves, and he  _comes out on the pitch_. He said he was practising because he's going to be refereeing the next Quidditch match, but he's never done that before, so I'm pretty sure he was just checking up on me."

"Refereeing a Quidditch match?" she shook her head. "He never does that. I don't think I've ever even  _seen_  him on a broomstick."

"Yeah, no kidding," Marcus said, "Are you  _sure_  you didn't tell him…?"

"I didn't," she said, "I promise. But… I did… I did kind of ask him if we could be allowed to have more privacy…"

"Shit, I thought you were going to ask your aunt," Marcus said, "I'll bet my broomstick that's why he's on my case all of a sudden. What did he - what did he say?"

She felt a nervous flutter in her stomach; would he insist on going off the Owlery or somewhere else right then if she told him?

"Uhm. He said… erm, he said he has to think about it."

"Great, so in the meantime I have to wonder if he's going to poison me out of spite," he muttered, "At least  _we're_  not playing the next match - I'd be afraid he'd hex me off my broom."

"If he's actually refereeing," Calista pointed out, "Which I very much doubt."

"Well… let me know what he says, I guess. About… you know, about being able to go somewhere alone together."

"Yeah," she said, with a small, false smile. "I'll tell you as soon as I hear."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista's patrol route brought her more often into the library, now that her father had asked her to keep an eye on the comings and goings of people into the Restricted section.

Infuriatingly, Gerald Boot also seemed to be spending an awful lot his time in the library proper during patrols. Once, he was reading a book in the corner, though he had the grace to look up guiltily, tuck it under his arm, and make a show about continuing his patrol when she'd given him a pointed glare.

A few times, he'd tried to strike up a conversation, and she'd ignored him the first two times.

The third time, she'd gone into the library with a book of her own - the book of runes she was borrowing from Flitwick, in fact - thinking to spend part of her patrol looking over it. Gerald was sitting at another table, and though he'd try to wave hello to her when he came in, she was pretending he wasn't there.

A half hour into her patrol, she heard whispering out in the corridor, and rose to investigate, closing the cover of the book gently so the spine wouldn't crease. It was only a couple of first-year Hufflepuffs, and they'd gone scampering away as soon as they saw her.

She shrugged, and returned the library, only to see that Gerald was standing near  _her_  table, thick volume under his arm, craning his neck to see the title of her book.

"This is one of my favourites," he said, enthusiastically, when she started marching back up the aisle. "I borrowed a copy from Flitwick once, but I'd like to get one of my own some day."

"Good for you."

Gerald sighed, and folded his arms. "All right, I should have known that wasn't going to work. Listen, Calista, I don't have a problem with you, but I can't continue to work with you like this, and I'd really rather not go to the Head Boy or Girl about it. I'd appreciate it if you could clue me in on why you hate me so much, since you said it's not my House."

She eyed him coldly a minute, debating whether she would even respond; she supposed in the past, she wouldn't have, but he'd worried her with talk of going to the Head Boy or Girl. Was that something he could do? Could she lose her Prefect badge over something like that?

Finally, she settled for, "I don't like bullies."

Gerald blinked, and laughed. " _Bullies_? Who told you that's what I was?"

"Who said anyone had to tell me? I've heard you."

"Heard me? Saying what? I never -" He paused. "Wait a minute. Do you mean, that crack I made about Flint at the Prefect meeting ages ago?"

"You've made quite a few of them at his expense, if I recall." Her tone remained cool; she still wasn't quite clear on whether a Prefect could give another Prefect detention, or exactly what would happen if he  _did_  report her constant hostility, so she supposed ought to refrain from calling him any of the choice names that were floating around in her mind just then.

Gerald shook his head, letting out an impatient breath. "So that's it, then? That's why you hate me? You think I'm  _bullying_  your boyfriend?"

She regarded him silently. Yes, that was exactly what she thought.

"Okay," Gerald continued, "I know you're bright; let's think this through for a moment. Flint's on the Quidditch team. He's twice my size. He punched me in the face in second year and broke my glasses, and I had to walk around with a big wad of Spellotape holding them together for  _weeks_  before my mum could send me a new pair. But yeah, sure, I'm bullying  _him_."

His voice had risen slightly as he spoke. Madame Pince came out of her office then, and stood behind the checkout desk, making a show of watching the two of them, as if they were an instant away from ransacking the place, Prefect badges or no.

"The story I heard," Calista said quietly, "Was that he finally punched you after you were horrible to him for ages. It was the only thing that would shut you up. You know, I have my own experience with a similar situation, and I have to say, it's remarkably effective."

Several expressions flashed across Gerald's face in rapid succession; she caught hurt, and disbelief.

"I know who you're talking about," he said. "That fifth-year girl in your house, Avril. An actual bully. I don't know what you've heard, but  _I'm not one_. I would have thought - you, of  _all_  people in this school would know, standing up for yourself, saying a couple of snarky things because it's the only thing you  _can_  do - that doesn't make someone a bully."

"What are you trying to tell me?" Calista asked, impatiently. "That I've got the story all wrong? That, actually, it wasn't you ragging on Marcus all these years, but the other way around? Is that what you expect me to believe?"

"Shhhh!" Came a sudden, forceful plea from Madam Pince; Calista had forgotten she was still watching them, though she was probably not close enough to overhear much.

Gerald sighed, and his shoulders sagged. "No, Calista. I don't expect you to believe that."

"Good. Because I don't."

" _This is a library!_ " Madame Pince hissed, as if they would forget what a room full of books was called.

"Well,  _I'm_  going to continue patrolling. I suppose you should do the same," Calista said, as if it didn't matter to her one way or the other.

She picked up Flitwick's book, hugged it to her chest, and went out into the corridor, but it was largely deserted. She started walking, anyway.

"Look," Gerald said, catching up to her. "I told you I didn't have a problem with you. I still don't. And if… if my taking stabs at Flint makes you so upset, then I won't do it anymore, all right?"

Calista glanced sideways at him; he did appear to be sincere. She softened, slightly, despite her earlier resolution not to, and stopped marching away to face him.

"It does upset me," she told him frankly, "I'd appreciate it if you did stop."

He stopped, too, shifting the weight of his own book to his other arm.

"Fine. I will. Now can we be at least  _somewhat_  friendly? We are both Prefects, after all."

"Why do you care, anyway? Why not just change your patrol route, so you can work with someone else?" Her tone wasn't exactly unkind, but it did come across with something harsher than mere curiosity.

Gerald looked, momentarily, distinctly flustered. He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, and that seemed to calm him, before he answered.

"Well, I  _like_  this patrol route. I had it last year, too. And as I said, we're both Prefects, and we're both peer tutors for Charms. I'd rather do those things with someone I'm friendly with, than someone who hates me. And anyway…"

He gave her an entirely different look, one that was somewhat searching. She resisted the urge to say something rude, ask him what he was looking at - after all, she  _was_  in the middle of agreeing to try and get along with him.

"You left some notes out last year, when you were helping someone with Charms," Gerald said, with the air of someone who was confessing something. "I guess it was a bit nosy of me to look at them, but I did. I could tell it wasn't for homework, and you had some really interesting stuff you were researching. I wanted - well, I've been hoping we could talk about it, sometime."

She blinked and took a breath, and he winced, as if he expected her to shout at him, or worse, for peeking at her notes.

"You… thought my notes were interesting?"

He nodded, relieved that she didn't appear to be angry. "It was the runes that first caught my eye. Ancient Runes is my favorite class - well, one of them, anyway. Obviously."

He held out the book he was carrying, so she could see the title.

" _Runick Magicks of Ancient Peoples"_ , she read. "I liked that one a lot."

"Yeah," he said sheepishly, "I saw it written in one of your citations so I asked Flitwick if he had a copy I could borrow…we don't-"

"Have it in the library," she finished, with a small, reluctant smile. "Yeah. I know. I borrowed it from him, too, last year."

"Well, that explains why I had to wait for it.  _Romanian Runelore_ 's good too, though. I think you'll like it."

"I do, so far. Although, the references, you know -"

"Utterly lacking," Gerald said, nodding emphatically. "Makes it difficult to trace the source material - and you know, with runes, you really have to, because there are so many different interpretations."

" _Especially_  for those that predate modern languages," she agreed, gesturing towards the book he held. "Like most of the ones in Unctur's book - but his references are very thorough, I'm still working my way through them. I found a few in the library, and my dad has some, but I expect I'll be searching the shelves at the book shop on the next Hogsmeade weekend just the same."

"That's where I spend every Hogsmeade weekend," Gerald said, "Last time, I was supposed to pick up some dungbombs at Zonko's for my little brother and I got so caught up in a Lovenworth that I completely forgot - he's still cross with me."

"Which one?"

"Huh? I only have the one brother, Terry."

She rolled her eyes. "No, which Lovenworth?"

"Oh!" He chuckled, suddenly sheepish again. " _Symbols of Stone and Star_."

"I haven't read that one yet - is it any good?"

"It's brilliant. I… actually, I got it for Christmas. I could bring it, next time we have a patrol together - or maybe to Charms tutoring. I mean… if you want to take a look at it…"

"Oh." Damn it, were they actually going to become friends, just like that? She wondered if Marcus would be upset… but then, Gerald had promised to stop taking cracks at him, and anyway, even  _Percy_  usually zoned out when she started talking about her research projects. It might be nice to have someone to discuss it with, who wasn't a Professor. "Uhm, sure. That would be… nice."

"Great," Gerald said, and then he ducked his head. "You will… you will be careful with the spine, of course? It's a new book, and I'm trying to keep it pristine."

"How can you even ask me that?" she smirked playfully, "Honestly, do I look like a  _monster_  to you?"


	7. Chapter 7

To Calista's utmost surprise, her father was indeed refereeing the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch match. Usually, she only bothered to go to the matches Slytherin was playing in, but Marcus had asked her to go watch it with him, and she felt guilty because she still hadn't told him that they actually  _were_  allowed a bit more freedom together, so she agreed to go.

She hadn't realised she'd be sitting with the whole team, though, but since she got on with most of them okay, she supposed it wasn't so bad. Besides, when she and Marcus settled inot their spots, Derek Logan wasn't anywhere to be seen.

She spotted her little cousin Draco a little ways away and waved at him. He waved back, as did his friend Gregory. She thought she saw one of Percy's little brothers in front of Draco, and wondered if Draco had finally made a friend who wasn't in Slytherin. Then she saw Draco poke the boy in the back of the head, and supposed that had never been more than wishful thinking.

Just before the match started, she felt jostled from behind. She started, inwardly cursing herself and glanced back.  _Damn it_. Not only was Derek squeezing into the seat behind her, but he was holding Olivia's hand.

"Oh, hello  _Snapelet_ ," Olivia said snidely. Calista ignored her. She cast a wistful glance towards her cousin; perhaps she should have just sat with him and his friends. Then Marcus slid his arm around her waist, and she supposed her seat wasn't so terrible after all.

Soon, the game was underway. She still could hardly believe she was seeing her  _father_  on a broomstick. She'd hardly had time to process the visual when she saw him wince; a Bludger hit by one of Percy's brothers had hit him in the shoulder. She half-stood, sucking in a breath, torn between worry and outrage.

"DId you see that?" she growled, "That can't be allowed -"

"Nope," Marcus said, "It's not. See, he just gave them a penalty."

"I hope he's okay…"

"Well, well," a familiar voice grated behind her, "It looks like we know where ickle Snapelet gets her flying skills - or should I say, lack of skills. He looks just as terrified and hopeless on a broomstick as  _she_  does."

Calista glanced at Marcus; she half-expected him to leap to her defence, as he had done so many times before, perhaps even insist that she was getting good at flying now, even though they both knew it wasn't true. But he was absorbed in the game, though he had tugged her back down to her seat, still had his arm at her waist.

She glanced over her shoulder next; Olivia wore a familiar smirk.

"Not as terrified and hopeless as you in Potions class," Calista shot back. "You know, a thing that actually  _matters_  -"

"Derek!" Olivia said, unnecessarily loudly, "Can you believe it? The girlfriend of our Quidditch captain implying that Quidditch doesn't  _matter_?"

At this, Marcus looked around. He tightened his hold on her waist. "She didn't say that," he said, immediately.  _Now_  he was coming to her defence?

"Actually, mate, she did-" Derek was saying, but then there was a tremendous roar through the crowd; incredibly, after scarcely five minutes, the game was over. Potter had caught the Snitch, and the Gryffindors had won.

Marcus looked positively furious; when she looked back out towards the pitch, so did her father. But then, she supposed that might be over being hit with a Bludger. She separated herself from Marcus and started pushing towards the front of the stands, wanting to see if he was all right, but the crowd was thick and excitable, and by the time she got there, he had already disappeared.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Severus slipped quietly out of the castle, pace quick as he headed for the forest; he was angry, and that he had taken a nasty bruise from the blasted bludger earlier certainly didn't improve his spirit.

"Ah," he said, as he approached the agreed-upon clearing; it was, in fact, the same clearing where he had taken Calista last year to pick fluxweed, when he'd taught her to brew Polyjuice Potion. "So you did decide to show up after all; I must say I'm pleasantly surprised."

There was absolutely nothing pleasant about his tone; the pitifully hunched figure at the other end of the clearing seemed to have picked up on that, as he flinched, tucking his odd turban down further around his ears.

"S-s-s-severus," he stuttered, "I d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet me here, of all p-places…"

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," he said coldly, "Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after all."

"S-s-severus… I d-d-don't have the s-slightest what you c-could mean…"

Severus rolled his eyes. "Tell me, have you figured out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

"B-b-but Severus, I -"

Severus stepped forward, lowering his voice to a dangerous hiss. "You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell."

"I - I told you, I d-don't know what you-"

"You know perfectly well what I mean," Severus cut in smoothly, "And I know exactly what you're up to; I know what you did on Halloween - admit it, Quirrell. Admit to your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-d-don't -"

Severus sneered in disgust. "Very well. In that case… we'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decide where your loyalties lie."

He turned on his heel, cloak billowing over his shoulder; inside, his blood boiled. Perhaps Dumbledore was fooled by the traitor's bumbling poor-me attitude, but Severus could see right through it; had seen through it ever since the fool had come back to school after the summer wearing that ridiculous purple turban and had taken over the Defence Against the Dark Arts Post.

He only needed  _proof_ , and then he could get the slimy bastard away from the school, away from Lily's boy, and away from his daughter.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

"D-dueling," Professor Quirrell said, adjusting his turban and leaning against the front of his desk. "An essential s-s-skill for any w-witch or wizard. In… in d-days of old, the f-fates of an entire kingdom could be decided on a s-single duel. Now, of course, it's more for sport -"

The professor glanced nervously towards the far side of the classroom, where Portia and Olivia muttered and giggled over something they had written on a scrap of parchment.

"B-b-but do we ever really know when we might be c-called upon to settle a matter of honor with a duel? Or, even, indeed, when a m-matter of life or d-d-death might arise and -"

Calista tried to pay attention, but only Quirrell could make dueling sound boring. It was hard to follow his stutter, and anyway, he was still giving her the creeps, so she tried her best to avoid making eye contact with him during class, which meant she usually spent most of the time staring blankly at her open textbook.

She found her mind wandering to her runes research. Last week, she had explained some of what she was trying to learn to Gerald, and no one had come in for tutoring, so they'd been able to spend a couple of hours poring over the references in the book he'd gotten for Christmas, hunting for titles that seemed likely to provide additional insight.

She'd been pleasantly surprised that he'd grasped what she was trying to find very quickly, and It turned out that Gerald had been researching runes in his spare time since his second year; he was trying to learn to create his own spells, and was experimenting with using runic shapes as wand movements.

She explained a little of her ideas with adapting old rituals and runic symbols to perform wandless magic and he seemed enthusiastic. He hadn't asked why she was so interested in the project, for which she was glad. She had no intention of explaining to him about Bellatrix and her superior disarming skills.

Actually, it rather seemed as if a lot of their research overlapped, and that they might be able to help each other - but they hadn't had enough time to really get into yet, so time would tell. She found herself actually looking  _forward_  to the next time they would patrol the library together - if it was quiet, they could surely take some time to discuss -

"Calista," Marcus hissed, across the aisle. She looked at him, and he jerked his head towards the front of the classroom, where she was startled to see that Professor Quirrell was staring at her. She heard a few titters from where her roommates were sitting.

"Uhm - sorry, Professor, what was that?" He must have asked her a question again.

"Get up," he said, quietly, and for a moment there was no sign of his usual nervous stutter.

"What?"

There were more giggles; she distinctly heard Olivia whispering.

The professor swallowed, and suddenly his stutter returned.

"W-we're going to d-demonstrate basic d-d-dueling form," he said, "And since you t-told us earlier in the year of your p-p-proficiency with charms, I'd like you to start."

She rose, slowly, knowing with a sinking feeling that he was going to assign her to demonstrate with Olivia; wasn't that precisely how things always worked out for her, in situations like these? She wasn't supposed to hex her classmates. She wondered if a professor-sanctioned duel would excuse her from being punished for doing so.

"Okay," Calista said, resigned, "Who'm I dueling with, then?"

"M-me," Professor Quirrell said, lifting his wand.

 _What the fuck?_  She couldn't hex a professor - that was sure to get her expelled. But she could see his mouth opening, his arm arcing up in preparation to cast. She had to do  _something_ , or she'd look like a fool in front of the whole classroom.

"Expelli-" she started, but the professor's voice cut quickly, aggressively across the room, echoing off the back wall.

" _Malictus!"_ she heard, dimly, as a burning, stinging pain seared across her abdomen.

"A disarming spell," the professor said, shaking his head in disappointment. "Surely, you can do b-better than a first-year spell; you had better hope you can p-produce better than that on your exams."

Olivia cackled in the background; but she was hardly aware of it, as she felt her skin tightening painfully, and a terrible rushing began in her ears.

Marcus had risen, thrown his chair back, and was yelling something at the Professor, who glanced at him dismissively, and lifted his wand again, towards Calista.

" _Expuls-"_

But the pain of the stinging jinx, the sight of the professor's wand levelled at her again, was doing something to Calista. Her blood felt, suddenly, like it might boil out of her, and she felt a rush of power coursing through her.

This time it was her incantations that cut across the professor's.

" _Affligo!_   _Diffindus Aculeus!"_

And then, for good measure: " _Expelliarmus!"_

There was a clatter as his wand fell to the ground; suddenly, it was the only sound in the classroom. Her first jinx had knocked him back into his desk, and he slowly uncurled himself now, lifting his face. His turban was askew, and there were slashes down the front of his robes.

Angry red lines crossed his neck and some even extended to the lower half of his face. Blood began to seep from them; a drop of red ran down his cheek like a tear, and scarlet lines began to bloom across his sky-blue robes.

Whispers began fiercely all around the classroom, and it slowly dawned on Calista what she had done.

Quirrell leaned down gingerly, to pick up his wand. She tensed, half-expecting him to lift it in her direction again, but he made no more sudden moves.

"Interesting," he said, in a low sort of hiss; in that moment, he sounded nothing like the the weak-willed, stammering professor that had stood at the front of the classroom all year, but as soon as she'd noticed it, his characteristic, reedy voice rang out again, and she was nearly certain she'd imagined it.

"I'd say that was a v-very good demonstration… w-well done, M-miss Snape. Ten p-points to S-Slytherin, yes?"

His words were punctuated by a wince, and a ragged indrawn breath. "Ah - and as it seems I n-need to visit the h-h-hospital wing… C-c-class is dismissed."

There was nearly a stampede for the door; the murmur of voices grew, and Calista saw that Olivia and Derek were helping the professor out of the classroom. A few students sent her wide-eyed glances, but most of them steadfastly avoided looking at her.

"Calista!" She realised Marcus was beside her, hovering over her with worry written all over his face. "Are you all right?"

"What did I do?" she managed, horror-struck. Her heart was racing, and adrenaline surged through her so that she hardly felt the sting of the jinx  _she'd_  been hit with anymore. "I cursed a  _professor_!"

"He hit you," Marcus said, reaching his hands out gently; she felt a sudden surge of pain where his fingers landed and looked down. He had pushed the front of her school robes aside, was gingerly touching a patch of red, inflamed skin that had swollen to peek through the gap between her top and her trousers. "You're hurt."

"I'm going to be expelled," she whispered hollowly.

Marcus was brushing his fingers carefully along her collarbone now; she winced, realised her flesh must be agitated and swollen there, too.

"No you're not," he said, grimly. "Come on - let's go. We're going to go see your dad before Quirrell gets to the Headmaster. He was about to cast the Expulso Curse on you, Calista, that could - that could  _really hurt_  someone, there's no  _way_  he's allowed to do that to students."

She let Marcus lead her towards the dungeons, one arm looped across her shoulders protectively, the other holding on to her hand.

"I'm sorry I don't know the countercurse," he said, shooting another worried glance at her as they walked.

"There isn't one," she said, still feeling her heartbeat resonating through her very bones, "Any kind of stinging hex only responds to potions…"

When they arrived at the Potions classroom, a group of third-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were just streaming out. As soon as the path was clear, Marcus guided Calista into the classroom. Her father was at the front, supervising a cleanup.

"Professor -" Marcus started, and he looked up; immediately, he strode over to them, leaving the Hufflepuff girl to continue mopping up her spilled potion, and ushered them towards his office.

"What happened?" he barked, before they were even inside; he could see angry red skin peeking out from Calista's collar, saw the nearly-concealed expression of pain on her face.

"Stinging Jinx," Calista managed, and as they entered his office he immediately retrieved a bottle from his shelves, simultaneously looking her over.

"It's pretty bad, sir," Marcus spoke up, lifting the hem of Calista's blouse several centimetres, showing him how far the irritated flesh extended.

"What happened?" he asked again sharply, handing her the unstoppered bottle, and already imagining the Avril girl in the most miserable detentions he could devise until the end of term.

Calista downed the bottle; she was too panicked, to notice that Marcus still had his arm around her shoulders supportively, even though they were in her father's office, and even more remarkably, that Severus did not seem not notice, or if he did, he did not care.

"I'm - Dad, I think they're going to expel me," Calista gasped out, once she had finished the potion. Slowly, the swelling began to retreat and the pulsing pain began to subside. "I - I cursed a professor…"

"It wasn't her fault," Marcus cut in, quickly, before Severus could even react, "He asked her to demonstrate a duel, and she was trying to just Disarm him, but then he hit her with a Stinging Jinx, and he was about to cast 'Expulso' if she didn't fight back-"

" _Who?_ " What snot-nosed brat would be in detentions as long as he could possibly get away with it, and  _how_  had a professor come into this and not been the one to bring her here, to him?

"Quirrell, sir."

" _What?"_  Severus and Calista were nearly of a height, and Marcus was a good deal taller than both of them, but somehow Severus' presence towered.

"Quirrell hexed her," Marcus repeated.

"Dad," Calista said, quietly, "I cursed him. I - he had to go to the hospital wing because of me, he was bleeding."

" _Good_ ," Severus said, savagely; Calista drew back slightly, and Marcus' arm dropped from her shoulders; it was the first time she noticed it had been there in the first place, and she wished he hadn't let it drop.

Severus looked formidable; Calista had seen him angry many times, but she had never seen him like this. His face had gone white, and then red, with rage, and his eyes flashed as if he might be able to fire off a killing curse with only a glance.

He drew his wand from his robes, and stormed to his office door; he paused in the doorway, eyes sweeping over the two teenagers.

"Stay here," he said, and then, with a whirl of his cloak, he was gone, leaving them quaking among the reverberating echoes of the slammed door.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

When Severus stormed into the Headmaster's office and saw that Quirrell was already there, it took nearly every ounce of self-control he possessed not to curse his trembling colleague on the spot.

"I hope he's here," Severus said, acidly, to the Headmaster, "Because he's being  _sacked_. Of course, that still won't prevent me from -"

"Severus," Dumbledore interrupted, calmly. "Will you take a seat?"

Quirrell had blanched and squealed, and nearly jumped behind Dumbledore in his effort to be away from Severus. Severus noted with satisfaction that whatever treatment Quirrell had sought for the wounds Calista's spell had inflicted, it hadn't completely worked yet; there were faint lines across his neck and cheeks, some still swollen and dotted with beads of blood.

"I will not," Severus said, wand trained on Quirrell. " _He attacked my daughter_."

"S-s-severus!" Quirrell squeaked, "N-n-no, of c-course not - it's all a big m-m-misunderstanding! It was a d-demonstration-"

" _Shut up_ ," Severus hissed, "If you hope to live even a moment longer."

"Severus!" Albus thundered, rising to his feet; the force of his words, his gaze, was enough to make Severus lower his wand, slightly, though his dark eyes remained fixed on the slighter man half-cowering behind the Headmaster.

When it appeared that a fragile, tentative silence had been reached, Albus continued, in an even tone.

"Quirinius rushed directly from the hospital wing to see me," he said, "To inform me that a dueling demonstration had taken place as part of the standard fifth-year curriculum. It seems that Calista volunteered, perhaps in an attempt to show off to her peers, and she was - ah, a little overzealous."

"That's a bloody fucking lie," Severus crooned. "He tried to cast the Expulso curse on her."

Quirrell blanched in horror. "Oh! N-n-no, Severus, I w-would n-never! Not on a - not on a st-student!"

"Quirinius came to me," Dumbledore said again, "To inform me that Dark magic had been cast, by your daughter, but that she should not be punished because he had not explicitly told the class they were  _not_  to retaliate with curses. In fact, Slytherin was awarded ten House Points for Calista's apparently impressive demonstration."

"He hurt her," Severus said, eyes still flashing dangerously. "He was going to hurt her worse."

"N-n-no," Quirrell stammered, "N-never. P-p-please, S-severus, Albus - I d-d-did use a minor st-stinging jinx t-to subdue her b-before she c-could hurt anyone else, thats t-t-true, but I was only going to d-disarm her after that, she m-must have misheard."

"Perhaps," Albus said, quietly, "it is possible you are overreacting, Severus. Quirinius tells me there were several students who can attest that Calista used Dark magic, and that he was only going to Disarm her next, before she could cast any more. One might be right to question how she learned the particular curse she used; I don't think I need to remind you that we do not teach the Dark Arts at Hogwarts."

" _I_  taught her," he said carelessly, and then, voice still quaking with rage: "I don't believe your story for an instant, Quirrell. I'm no fool - I know  _exactly_  what this is. I called you out for going after the Stone and you decided to get your revenge by hurting my daughter -"

"I d-d-don't have any n-notion what - what -"

"Save it," he said, smoothly. His eyes slid to Dumbledore. "We'll discuss this further, in private," he said to the Headmaster, "In the meantime, I am excusing Calista from Defence classes for the remainder of the school year; I will prepare her for her exams."

"Severus, you know the school can't allow that -"

"I'm not negotiating," he said, quietly. He tilted his wand up again, aiming it towards Quirrell, though he would have stood a very real risk of hitting the Headmaster if he actually attempted to cast a spell in that moment.

"As for you," he said, with an intensity that rightly could have made the Dark Lord himself quiver in fear, "You will stay far, far away from my daughter, or you will suffer the most painful death I can devise - and I think you'll find I can be  _quite_  creative."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Severus tried his best to school his expression as he re-entered his own office, recalling the look he had read on Calista's face when he'd left her and the Flint boy there. He supposed it would not do her any good to see the depths of his own fear, his own anger - so he pushed it down, into a deeper layer of his mind, just as he had long taught her to do.

Anxiety was still written on her features, and Flint looked concerned, as well. The boy was holding Calista's hands, trying to comfort her, but he dropped them when Severus returned.

"I'm sorry," Calista said quietly, at the same time that Flint straightened his back and turned to Severus.

"They can't expel her, sir," he said, nervously, and even though he had covered this previously, he repeated, "It wasn't her fault."

"Mr. Flint," Severus said, "You are certain that the spell you heard Quirrell attempt was the Expulso curse?"

The boy nodded, vigorously. "It was, sir, I'd swear it on my broomstick."

Severus nodded, as if he had been expecting this answer. "Thank you. And - thank you for bringing her directly here. That was the correct course of action."

He turned his gaze towards Calista next. "How are you? Has all of the swelling gone done?"

She nodded, dark eyes still wide with worry; but there was no longer any indication of pain within.

"You're not going to be expelled," Severus told her, quietly, "But I do want to talk to you; you do not have another class right now, correct?"

"I have… uhm, I'm supposed to meet Percy so he can help me with Transfiguration…"

"Where?"

"In the library."

Severus turned to Marcus. "Can I ask that you let Mr. Weasley know Calista is with me at the moment, and won't make her tutoring session today?"

Marcus nodded, glancing at Calista again. Severus caught him offering her a small, encouraging sort of smile before he took his leave; he also caught him stealing a wary look at the potion bottles lined up on the shelves behind his desk.

Once the office door had closed behind Marcus, Severus spell-locked it, and then he studied his daughter's face at length.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, I told you, the potion worked - Dad, am I really not being expelled?"

"I didn't ask if the potion worked," Severus said quietly, "I asked, are you  _all right_?"

Something in his tone managed to unlock a hard knot in her chest, one she hadn't even realised was there, until that moment.

"It was too easy," she whispered, "I - I didn't even have to try."

"You felt threatened," he said, evenly.

"I used the strongest curse I knew, without thinking. What happens when I know stronger ones? I don't want to … what if I…"

Severus placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You're not like her," he said, as if he had broken his promise and read her thoughts.

"What if I  _become_ -?"

"You won't."

"How can you know that?"

He smiled ruefully. "Because I know  _you_. And…" he swallowed. "I knew her."

She looked unconvinced.

"Let me ask you something," Severus said, "When it was over - when you saw the aftermath of the curses - how did you feel?"

"I don't know. Horrified. But - what if that was just because I didn't want to be expelled?"

"And once you were satisfied he was subdued - Did you try to continue inflicting harm?"

"What? Of course not, I - I just Disarmed him, once he wasn't trying to curse me anymore."

"So," he said, "You were horrified, rather than gleeful. You elected to Disarm, rather than torture. And let's not forget - you were not the first one to cast offensively. I share your concern with being mindful of when and how you use Dark magic; but I do not have the slightest concern that you are, or ever will be, anything like Bellatrix."

He let her absorb his words, and only once he was satisfied that she had did he remove his hand from her shoulder.

"Now," he said, "I have already informed the Headmaster that I'm excusing you from Quirrell's class for the rest of term. You'll learn Defence from me."

"You can… you can  _do_  that?"

"Not really," he said, "But I'm doing it anyway."

Relief flooded her face, but it was short-lived. A flicker of anxiety found its way back.

"So… so then what's happening to me, if I'm not being expelled? They won't - they won't take away my Prefect badge, will they?"

Severus' lip curled slightly. "As that's my decision," he said, "And I don't believe you've done anything wrong, no, they won't."

"But I cursed a  _professor_."

"No," he said, "You defended yourself against a fully-trained, adult wizard who -" he paused, pursed his lips. "Attacked you," he finished.

"I don't know if it's much of an excuse," Calista said, "But he - Quirrell - he's made me nervous all year. He says my name in this weird way sometimes, and I kept getting this… this creepy  _feeling_ , I can't explain it exactly… but maybe that's why I reacted so strongly…"

Severus made a small noise in his throat, and studied her.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know," she said, "I guess… I guess I worried I was being paranoid. I mean, he's a  _professor_ , right? I didn't think - I thought it was stupid to think that he might actually hurt me."

Something flickered across Severus' expression, and he pursed his lips, a second time.

"I told you I suspected there was someone dangerous in the castle," he said, finally. "I asked you to tell me if  _anyone_  - student or professor - seemed odd. Didn't it occur to you that Quirrell's behaviour might have been  _precisely_  what I meant?"

She blinked. "You… you told me there might be someone dangerous in the castle, but you never told me it was  _someone I sit in a classroom with for two hours a week._ Didn't it occur to  _you_  that that might be information I should have?"

Severus sucked in a breath, and abruptly began pacing the length of his office.

"It never occurred to me that he might target you," he said, "If it had…if you had told me about his behaviour..."

He shook his head, paused at the far end of the office. "I thought I was doing the right thing, by trying to keep you unaware," he admitted. "I thought the safest thing would be for you to have no knowledge of his duplicity; no reason for him to ever notice you… and now I fear it might be my fault that this happened to you."

Calista softened, slightly. "It's… Dad, it's not your fault that he's a bloody creep," she said. "I just wish you had  _warned_  me."

"I confronted him, two days ago," Severus continued, bitterly. "I told him I was on to his game - and now this? I didn't predict it, but damn it, I  _should have_."

She stepped cautiously towards him, and this time it was she who reached a hand out, comfortingly, to rest on his shoulder.

"Dad? Are  _you_  okay?"

"Expulso is a very powerful curse," Severus said, a note of agony rising in his throat, and breaking up his words. "At a close enough range… it's not impossible… he could have killed you - "

An expression flashed across his face that she didn't think she had ever seen there - but it was one she was intimately familiar with on her own, and she recognized it, immediately, for pure, animal terror.

She crossed the remaining arms' length between them, and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

" _Dad_ ," she said, quietly, right in his ear, " _I'm okay._ "


	8. Chapter 8

Calista felt like whispers and stares followed her everywhere she went in the days following the Quirrell incident. She'd been afraid, after the way that the classroom had reacted, that she would find herself in isolation from her housemates again, that it would restore the terrible dynamic that had once existed, where she had felt like it was Olivia and everyone else against her.

But that had not happened; in fact, the majority of her housemates seemed impressed, and quite a few were  _amused_. Quirrell had never been a particularly popular teacher among the Slytherins - after all, he had taught Muggle Studies up until this year, a class which they almost unanimously viewed with derision.

Draco was suddenly trying to spend a lot more time around her; more specifically, he was trying to  _be seen_  spending a lot more time around her. Eva Selwyn, who had been cool towards her ever since Halloween when Calista had refused to let her go off in search of the troll, suddenly forgave her and tried to squeeze into the seat next to her at dinner nearly every night.

Even Derek was being reasonably civil, and though Olivia had made a few half-hearted attempts to take cracks at her, she'd quickly seen that not very many of their housemates were playing along, and was more or less ignoring her, which suited Calista just fine.

A few of the Slytherins, admittedly, seemed a bit wary of her; Emily suddenly found any excuse to end a conversation they were having, which somehow hurt more now that Calista suspected it wasn't  _all_  to do with fear of retaliation from Olivia.

Endria Folland, too, seemed more aloof lately, and although Calista supposed it was  _possible_  that it was partly due to a preoccupation with studying for her N.E.W.T. exams, she didn't really believe that.

George and Daisy Spratt had both been quick to make it clear that they were her friends; and, since nearly all the rest of Slytherin House was suddenly trying to do the same, the two of them suddenly found themselves gaining much wider acceptance among their housemates. Calista supposed that this, if nothing else, was a positive element to come out of the ordeal, though admittedly she wasn't sure how she felt about her newfound popularity.

She was no longer able to sit and study quietly by herself in the common room, so she was spending a lot more time in the library, or, when she felt the stares of other students on her there as well, in her father's quarters. She supposed it wasn't a terrible arrangement, though; if her father was free, he was usually amenable to helping her with her O.W.L. revisions, particularly in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

He'd told her, and told the Headmaster, that he was taking over her lessons, but - mercifully - he hadn't added another block to her schedule. Instead, they'd find odd patches of time here or there, or he'd recommend books and articles for her to read.

A Hogsmeade weekend was due shortly after the incident in Defence class, and Calista was fiercely looking forward to a chance to get out of the castle and be around her friends in a place that she might not feel so stared at every moment; after all, there was so much to  _do_  in the village, and it had been a little while since the last trip there - surely everyone would have better things to do than whisper about her, right?

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Severus sat tensely on the edge of his seat; he'd grudgingly accepted the Headmaster's invitation to sit down, but he wasn't going to drink a drop of the damn tea until the Headmaster had properly heard him out.

"You tasked me with helping you discover who was trying to steal the Stone; I've done that - so why is he still here, putting the students at risk?"

"You have certainly made it known that you suspect Professor Quirrell," Dumbledore said neutrally, "But Severus, he helped protect the stone, and he has been a trusted teacher here for many years. Surely you must be able to see that I can't act on your suspicions alone - I still need, as I told you earlier in the year,  _proof_."

"I've been handing you proof all year," Severus said, keeping a snarl at bay only with great effort. "He let that troll loose in the dungeon on Halloween - putting all of the students in my House at risk, I might add - "

"Suspicion, Severus, isn't proof."

"He attacked Potter at that Quidditch game - "

"Again," Dumbledore said, gently, "You  _suspect_  it was him; we don't know for certain."

"He attacked my daughter, Albus," Severus nearly barked, "In direct retaliation for my confronting him to try to find your  _proof_."

The older man gazed evenly at Severus over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "Severus…" he began.

"You're going to patronize me," Severus predicted.

"I understand why you are extremely protective of Calista," Dumbledore said, not unkindly, "But you cannot let that blind you to her mistakes, her wrongdoings. I've reminded Professor Quirrell that offensive magic should never be cast against students - he does admit the Stinging Jinx was wrong, Severus, but he was thinking only of protecting other students at the time and I can't fault him too harshly for that, especially since Calista inflicted far more harm than she suffered."

Severus felt his blood begin to boil; with fierce effort, he tamped his temper down, knowing that losing it would only hurt his credibility in this situation. "With respect, Albus," he managed tightly, "I know my daughter very well - I would say I am more aware than anyone of any mistakes, any wrongdoings on her part - and I am telling you,  _this wasn't one of them_. Quirrell attacked her, and he intended to cast a powerful curse on her, which was prevented only by her defending herself - just as I've taught her to, I might add, for reasons even you can surely understand..."

"I questioned several of the students in the classroom, Severus," Albus said, quietly and a little sadly, "They all said Professor Quirrell was in the middle of the Disarming incantation when Calista's curses hit him."

"Flint and Spratt both told me they heard 'Expulso'," Severus countered, forcefully.

"And Mr. Flint, I believe, is an exceptionally close friend of your daughter's?" the Headmaster replied, "As is Mr. Spratt's younger sister?"

"And Avril and MacNair dislike her; you can't discount one side of the story based on their relationship with Calista, while ignoring that factor on the other side."

"I have a respected Professor of many years, as well as six students, including a Prefect, telling me they heard a Disarming spell, and only two students besides Calista who believe they may have heard something else-"

"Calista's a Prefect too," Severus interrupted, "And yet you seem to have no issue believing that she is lying, despite my repeated insistences to you that I would know it if she were."

"Ah, well, there is one thing that every witness concurs on, Severus, and that is that Calista cast a powerful Dark curse on a professor of this school, inflicting serious harm. It is an offense that you must know is easily punishable by expulsion, and yet Calista remains at school, even still retains her Prefect status. I am even, generously, tolerating your decision to remove her from Professor Quirrell's class, as much for his own protection as for hers - and all of this, Severus, is because I  _do_  understand the exceptional circumstances that Calista has been subject to. But there is a limit to how much I can excuse of any student, and it is only fair that I let you know that Calista is very close to that limit."

"What are you implying?" Severus asked, an edge to his voice. "That if Quirrell attacks her again, she's just supposed to -  _let him_? Or you'll expel her?"

"My words are not intended as a threat to you or to Calista," the Headmaster said, "I only wish to caution you, and hopefully give you cause to reflect carefully on the decisions you are making, Severus. I know your intention is to equip Calista to protect herself, should her mother ever return and seek to do her further harm…"

"Yes, that," Severus said tightly, grimly, "And now, there's this business with the Stone - if Quirrell - if  _whoever's_  trying to steal it," he amended, seeing the Headmaster's expression, "Is indeed after it for the reason we fear, then what do you suppose would happen if the Dark Lord ever managed to return? Do you suppose he would forgive my defection, let bygones be bygones? Or do you suppose he  _might_  decide to punish me by going after the only living person I love?"

Albus regarded Severus solemnly. "I assure you, I want to keep the Stone away from anyone who might seek to bring it to Voldemort just as dearly as you do. Please don't think that I don't understand your fears, Severus, when it comes to protecting your child. All I wish is that you ask yourself to thoroughly consider whether your approach is truly in her best interest."

"My  _approach_?"

"Practising the Dark Arts can take a terrible toll, Severus. Surely you, of all people can understand how great the cost can be. Perhaps a few Dark spells intended for self-defence seems like a minor enough thing, and certainly it is easy to justify in light of the horrors of her past. And yet… so many terrible things begin with easily justifiable measures, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course I  _'of all people'_  understand the cost," Severus snarled softly, "And I have done more than you can imagine to ensure Calista understands it, too. I will always reinforce caution and discretion; but I won't leave her defenceless when our enemies come, Albus; because, as you say, I  _of all people_  understand… I understand what happens to those who expect the Dark Lord to play by any set of rules."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista stepped into the Three Broomsticks pub, immediately reveling in the pervading, bubbly chatter that she knew had nothing to do with  _her_. It was refreshing, after a week of whispers and murmurs whenever she walked into a room - or, if that room were the Slytherin common room, cheers and innumerable invitations to play Exploding Snap - to simply slip by, unnoticed.

She could see students talking and laughing everywhere she looked, and even though one or two did seem to glance at her a moment longer than usual, and even though there was a blur of red hair as one of Percy's twin brothers poked the other in the shoulder and murmured something when she walked in, most of them remained absorbed in their own chatter about exams, plans for the summer, and Merlin knew what else.

She searched the crowd for another red head - there, in the corner by the window. She spotted Amelia and Penny too, and hurried over, slipping into the one empty chair at their table - it even had a Butterbeer in front of it already.

"Sorry," she said, "Marcus wanted to hang out for a few minutes before I came here…"

"Oh. Uhm… hi Calista," Penny said, cautiously. Calista's ears perked at her tone, and she glanced around at the faces of her friends. All three appeared distinctly uncomfortable. Percy actually  _squirmed_ , the tips of his ears going red.

"What's going on?" she asked, just as she felt the presence of someone at her shoulder.

"Excuse me," came a female voice uncomfortably close to her ear; she managed to keep from starting only by clenching her fists tightly closed under the edge of the table. "I think you're in my seat…"

She blinked, and looked up into the face of a fifth-year Gryffindor girl she knew only by sight. Felicia or Felicity something, she thought.

"What?" Calista said, "No I'm not; I  _always_  sit here, this is our table…"

"I think you misunderstood," the girl said, easily, "I was being polite when I said 'I think'. You're  _definitely_  in my seat; see, that's my butterbeer."

"We… we didn't think you were coming, Calista," Penny piped up, "And Percy knows Felicia from class, she's been playing chess with us sometimes, and we… well, we invited her to come since… since…"

"Since what?" Calista challenged, still not rising from the chair, "And why would you think I wasn't coming?"

"Well, obviously, since we thought you'd be held back from Hogsmeade visits," Percy said at last, face going pink. "It seems only fair - Calista, are you still wearing your  _Prefect_  badge? Haven't they made you turn it in?"

Well, she knew  _why_  Percy expected her badge would be revoked, didn't she? After all,  _she_  had been afraid she would be expelled, at first, or that her badge would be revoked at the very least.

"I'd really like to sit down," the dark-haired Gryffindor girl said, pointedly.

"No," Calista said, and even though she was actually talking to Percy, the Gryffindor girl narrowed her eyes and snaked her arm out for her butterbeer, scraping the bottle along the table and leaving a wet trail in its wake. A few drops of condensation scattered outwards, landing like cold dew on Calista's face and hands. "I didn't lose my badge, and Professor Horrible didn't lose his job, so I guess we're even."

"I keep telling them, it can't be like we've heard," Amelia finally cut in, with a painful sort of eagerness in her voice, "It's all rumours, right? You couldn't - you would never attack a  _professor_ , right?"

"Amelia," Percy said, warningly, "I told you, I have it on a very reliable source-"

"A 'reliable source'?" Calista squeaked, "What source could be more reliable than  _me_? I was there, remember? Quirrell attacked  _me_ , with a Stinging Jinx, and then he tried to cast Expulso on me. I  _defended_  myself so I wouldn't be blasted to bits -"

"Oh, yes," Percy said, lifting his chin. His voice rose, a note of hysteria creeping in. "You defended yourself very well, I heard - with  _Dark Magic._ "

He said this last bit very dramatically. Penny frowned, and Amelia rolled her eyes.

"Come on Perce," Amelia said, "You consider anything stronger than a Tickling Charm to be 'dark magic'."

"Well, I don't know what spell she cast," Percy continued, "But it was certainly no TicklingCharm -  _I_  heard Quirrell ended up in the hospital wing, bleeding profusely."

The three of them looked at her, expectantly; she realised they were waiting for some sort of rebuttal from her.

"Well, I wouldn't say  _profusely_ ," she muttered.

"What did you cast?" Amelia asked, at once.

"A… a modified Severing Charm," she hedged.

"And you  _must_  know," Percy said, voice quaking slightly, "That it is  _expressly_  forbidden to use any sort of Severing Charm offensively - people can lose limbs, Calista!"

"Not from this one," she said defensively, "The… the cuts are shallow. They just… they just sting a bit…"

Only, did she  _really_  believe it was as minor as she was trying to make it seem, suddenly, to her friends? She remembered the horror she'd felt when she'd witnessed the effects of the spell, the gaping nausea that had been living somewhere in her gut ever since.

She could see Amelia working through a mental catalogue of spells. Her eyes lit, suddenly.

"Diffindus Aculeus?" she guessed, and Calista nodded.

"I've always wanted to see that o-" Amelia began, but Percy and Penny  _both_  cut her off with a unison hiss of disapproval.

"Amelia, no!" Penny said, "That's a horrible spell."

"And it's horrible to even  _try_  to defend its use  _in a classroom full of students_ ," Percy added, quickly.

Calista opened her mouth angrily, to ask Percy what he thought of a professor using the Expulso curse in a classroom, but a voice sliced through over her shoulder before she could get the words out.

"It's also horrible to have to drink my butterbeer  _standing_  because someone is in my seat."

"It's  _not_  your seat," Calista growled, and Percy frowned again, pink face nearly obscuring his freckles.

"Calista, we did invite Felicia to sit with us today…"

"I'm sure we can squeeze in another chair," Amelia said, quickly, but Percy flushed and Penny was biting her lip.

"Perhaps it's best if we just -" Penny began.

"Just  _what_?" Calista said, voice rising as she leaned over the table, "Just forget we're  _supposed_  to be friends?"

"Calista, no, it's not that -"

"Well," Percy said, and his voice was rising too, not only in pitch but in volume as well, "If she's still trying to  _defend_  her actions, maybe - I mean, maybe we  _should_ -"

"Percy, no," Amelia breathed, tugging at his elbow, with a worried look at Calista.

"Should… should revisit this another time," Percy managed. Calista could see his shoulders heaving, as if he were breathing heavy; she wasn't aware, yet, that her own shoulders were beginning to tremble as well.

"Fine," Calista said, rising at last from the chair and shoving her way past the Gryffindor girl. "Have it your way. I'm going. Bye, Amelia. Bye, Penny. Bye, Percy."

She stormed past the edge of their table, noticed the Gryffindor girl settling into the now-vacated chair with what Calista imagined was an entitled sort of air.

"And bye,  _Felicia_ ," she hissed, spitefully, before turning on her heel and exiting the pub.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista had half-expected Amelia to come out of the Three Broomsticks after her, but when five minutes passed and it hadn't happened, she'd decided to just go back to the castle early.

Since most students in third year and above were still in Hogsmeade, she decided it was probably safe enough to go back to the Slytherin common room. With any luck, she could absorb herself in an interesting book and try to forget about how miserable she was suddenly feeling.

As it happened, scarcely moments after she had settled herself on a dark, low-backed sofa in the corner of the room with her borrowed copy of  _Romanian Runelore_ , her plans for solitude were foiled by her little cousin and his friends, as they settled onto the sofa on either side of her as if they'd been invited.

"Hello, Calista," Draco said brightly, from her right side. "I expect you had fun in Hogsmeade?"

"Uhm," Calista said, eyes still trained on the pages of her book. At least she had managed not to start or fidget when the three boys had slid onto the sofa beside her, though Draco's friends had been jostling and shoving each other in the process. "Yeah, I guess."

"New book?" he continued, peering over her shoulder at the pages.

"Is it a Dark Arts book?" the nearer of Draco's friends, Gregory, asked eagerly from her left side.

"Oh, I bet it is," Draco said airily, "Calista's got loads of them, which of course she lets me read. Is that the one Father got your for Christmas, Calista?"

She bit back a small smirk. Had she been this transparently eager-to-impress, to Kim Avery and her friends, back when she was around Draco's age? She hoped not.

"No," Calista said, carefully sliding her finger towards the spine to save her place and showing them the cover. Gregory and Vincent squinted at it, trying to make out the cover.

"Runelore?" Draco asked, unimpressed. "There aren't any curses in that book. How terribly boring."

"Boring, is it?" Calista countered loftily, struck by a sudden idea; if Draco was going to insist on posturing for his friends, why not play along? Merlin knew she could  _use_  an amusing distraction, on that day of all days. "Yes, I suppose you might see it that way… after all, you're too young to really know…"

"I am not," Draco said automatically. Then he cocked his head. "Erm… know what, precisely?"

"Well, they hide the darkest curses in secret books, don't they?" Calista said, with a tone that heavily implied that  _everyone_ knew that. "Didn't you learn that in History of Magic?"

"Huh?" Vincent frowned, shaking his head and furrowing his brow. "N-no, we haven't l-"

"Of course we know that," Draco cut in hastily, and Gregory quickly nodded in agreement. "But that's not a secret book it all, it's only a book full of boring old runes."

Calista affected a dark, pitying chuckle. Gregory laughed too, uncertainly, until Draco silenced him with a pointed glare. "Oh, Draco. That's the  _point_."

She opened the book where her finger still held her place, and flipped back a few pages, pointing to a photograph of runes carved into a canyon wall. "What do you see here?" she asked him.

"I don't know," Draco said haughtily, "Some sort of… of primitive art, I suppose."

"No," Calista admonished, "Look  _closer_."

Though he was trying very hard to affect a casual air, she noticed Draco peering carefully at the photograph. Gregory squeezed himself as close to her as possible and practically lowered his nose to the page, and Vincent leaved over  _him_ , squinting critically at the photograph as well.

"I think I see it!" Gregory said suddenly, looking up at her. "It's right -  _there_ , isn't it?"

He gestured vaguely, as if trying to indicate the entire photograph.

"You don't see anything, Goyle," Draco scoffed, but he, too, looked expectantly at Calista.

"Well,  _I_  definitely don't see anything," Vincent said glumly, "Can someone show me?"

"Look here," Calista said, reaching a finger towards the first rune, and slowly tracing its shape in the air a centimetre above the surface of the page. She paused, biting the inside of her lip to keep from smiling as all three boys followed her finger with their eyes as dutifully as if they were three hungry cats watching a fat horsefly.

"No," she said, suddenly, shaking her head and affecting concern. "I… I shouldn't. You're only first years, after all…"

"I'm nearly fourteen," Gregory said quickly, eagerly.

Draco snorted. "You're twelve, you dimwit."

"That  _is_  nearly fourteen," Gregory insisted, stubbornly, "If you round up."

"Ignore these morons," Draco said, "Calista, you can show  _me_."

She made a show of craning her neck to look around the common room before lowering her head and her voice dramatically.

"Very well," she murmured, "I'll show all three of you - but you  _must_  keep it secret, even from the rest of your friends. If the Ministry ever got wind that students knew about this…"

"The  _Ministry_?" Vincent's jaw dropped in awe.

"Mm." She glanced up again, as if a spy would suddenly materialise in front of them.

"Look," she said again, tracing her finger through part of the the first rune, then around and through the second one, and on and on until she'd traced her finger along all or part of each of the six runes pictured. "The bolder lines," she murmured, "It's difficult to see, but if you've the eye for it…"

The three of them leaned over, studying the pattern she drew eagerly.

"I see it!" Gregory whispered again, practically quivering with excitement.

"Draco?" she asked, softly. "Do you see it?"

"I… I think so," he said, "It's… it's…"

"Go on," Calista encouraged, and then, generously: "It's in the Cyrillic script."

"It's a curse," Draco whispered authoritatively, and Calista pressed her lips together, under the guise of offering a soft 'Mm' of confirmation; her stomach hurt powerfully from holding in a laugh.

"I don't see it," Vincent whined, "Which curse is it?"

"Which curse is it?" Calista echoed, mimicking a quiet snort of derision she'd heard her father use often enough in the classroom, "Only the most powerful blood-draining curse ever discovered… so powerful, in fact, that it kicked off the era of vampiric persecution in Romania a thousand years ago."

"Wow," Vincent remarked, "People used that curse against vampires?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "No, you idiot. People were dying from the curse, and they  _blamed_  vampires, because of all the blood loss - right, Calista?"

" _Exactly_ ," Calista said quietly, gravely. "And now the three of  _you_  know the curse. Well - you will, if you can read the script."

She closed the book, abruptly, and all three boys started at the sudden  _snap_  of the pages coming together.

"But this is my copy," she said, even though of course it belonged to Professor Flitwick. "You'll have to find one of your own."

"Let me borrow it," Draco demanded, and Calista arched a brow.

"Erm, please," he added, hastily.

Calista shook her head, regretfully. "I still need it, Draco; and besides, I don't yet know if I can trust you three to be  _discreet_  with this sort of thing…"

"You can," Draco said, immediately.

"Yeah, we won't tell the MInis-ow!" Vincent was interrupted by a sharp blow to the ribs from Gregory's elbow.

" _Be quiet_ ," Gregory hissed, forcefully enough, or perhaps he was just close enough, that Calista felt the heat of his breath on her neck, smelled the onions he'd had with lunch. She wrinkled her nose. "I don't want us to get Calista in trouble."

The common room door swung open then, and half the Quidditch team entered, Marcus among them. His face lit up when he saw Calista, and said something to his teammates, punching each of the Beaters on the shoulder in a good-natured way, before separating from them and striding over to where she sat.

"Hey," he said, happily, "You're back early. I was looking for you at the Three Broomsticks. Saw your Arithmancy friends, but you weren't there."

"Yeah," Calista said, bravely. "They were… they were talking about something boring, so I decided to come back and hang out with my cousin for a bit."

"And us," Gregory piped up, unnecessarily. "We're not her cousins, me or Vincent, but she was hanging out with us, too."

"They're always talking about something boring," Marcus said to Calista, ignoring Gregory entirely. "Glad you finally realised it. So… you still hanging around with… with your cousin, or are you free? I was thinking, it's pretty nice out, maybe we go for a walk around the lake..."

"Yeah," Gregory said hopefully, "Let's go around the lake."

Calista and Marcus' eyes met; he raised his eyebrows, and she bit the inside of her mouth again, to keep from laughing.

"You two are so thick, it's a miracle you've mastered breathing," Draco said, rolling his eyes. " _We're_  not going to the lake, unless you fancy watching my cousin and her boyfriend snogging -"

Marcus and Vincent both sniggered at that, and Calista felt her cheeks turning pink. Gregory coughed as though he had choked on something.

"Come on, boys," Draco continued, "You heard Calista; we're going to the library."

Gregory managed to recover, and the three of them left; Marcus shook his head in amazement. "Man. You make  _everyone_ go the the library, huh?"

Calista chuckled. "Oh, that. I told them there are secret dark spells hidden in pictures of runes in library books…"

Marcus laughed, slipping his arm around her waist, and pulling her close to him. "That's funny."

They walked out of the common room, made their way towards the front door of the castle, though Calista noticed that as they walked by the corridor that led to the Potions classroom and her father's office, his hand dropped from her waist and he reached for her hand instead.

"It's uh… there aren't, right?" Marcus asked, after a few minutes had passed.

"What?"

"Secret spells," he prodded, "In the library books?"

She snorted. "Of course not. But don't let on to my cousin - I kind of want to see how long he and his friends will keep looking."

"All right," Marcus said, glancing back. They had just left the castle; as soon as the heavy wooden doors closed behind him, he slipped his arm around her waist again. "Hey, he's going to be on the team next year, you know. Your cousin."

She turned her head, looked at him questioningly. "How do you know? You've held tryouts already?"

"Nah," Marcus said, "Still have to have those, for the Chaser position, but Draco's gonna play Seeker next year when Terence graduates. Haven't seen him fly, really, but reckon he's small enough to do all right."

She frowned. "What do you mean, you haven't seen him fly? Isn't that… uhm, isn't that sort of a requirement to play Quidditch?"

"Well, yeah," Marcus grinned, "But so are brooms, and your uncle's buying a set for the whole team, s'long as we let Draco play. He pre-ordered seven  _Nimbus 2001_ s, can you believe it?"

"So he's… he's bribing you into into putting him on the team," Calista said quietly.

"I know, it's mad, right?" Marcus laughed, "When he could've just had  _you_  ask me, you know I'd have done it… but still, seven of the best broomsticks money can buy? I'm not complaining."

She felt the familiar nausea of the last week or so begin to creep its way back into her gut.

"We'll win the Quidditch Cup next year for  _sure_ ," he said, brightly. Then he glanced at her, smiling slyly. "Mind you, not that I'm planning on losing it this year, but man… Nimbus 2001s. I haven't even seen a prototype yet."

"Do we have to talk about Quidditch?" she snapped, because she was hoping that dropping the subject would loosen the knot in her stomach.

"'Course not," Marcus said, glancing over his shoulder again. They were a good distance from the castle proper now, about halfway around the lake. He stopped when they drew level with a large tree, ducking under its canopy and pulling her gently along by the arm at her waist. "We don't really have to  _talk_  about anything…"

It occurred to her, as Marcus kissed her, that this, them being away from everyone, half-hidden from view of the castle by a tree, was still against the rules as far as Marcus knew; she still hadn't told him that her father had somewhat relented.

His hands were at her sides now, fingers slipped just beneath the hem of her blouse, precisely where they'd been when he'd been concerned about the angry, irritated flesh there from the aftermath of the Stinging Jinx...and of course, this was completely different, though admittedly she felt, once again, as if her skin might be on fire.

At some point, she noticed his hands had crept further up her sides; she pulled back slightly, tried to look at him reproachfully; it was more difficult to pull off than she supposed it should have been.

"Sorry," Marcus murmured, "I forgot - this is okay, yeah?"

It was… she didn't know what it was. She placed her own hands over his, pushed them back down several centimetres, somewhere in between where he had started and where he was.

" _This_  is," she said quietly, and then put her own hands back at his shoulders, where they had been.

"Sorry," he said again, "I don't mean to - it's just… man…"

"What?" Something told her not to look directly into his eyes; but even without doing so, she could tell they were brimming with… with emotion, with something, and even if she didn't have qualms against accidentally reading his thoughts, she thought it might be something she wasn't ready to understand, yet.

"Well, it's just… now that I know you're safe and not being expelled and everything… I keep thinking about that thing with Quirrell…"

The knot slowly began to reassemble itself somewhere in her insides.

"And man, I'm sure it's a bit messed up, but seeing you cast like that - it was…"

"Scary?" she whispered, without realising she was going to, because she was still feeling that herself, whenever she allowed her mind to replay it.

He shook his head, pulling her closer still. "Nah, not that. It was… well, it was real hot, yeah?"

"What? I… I sent a professor to the hospital wing, and you think it's…  _attractive_?"

"Mm-mm," he agreed, enthusiastically. He leaned down, and kissed her as if she was asking him to prove it.

She felt his thumbs rubbing up and down, flat against her stomach, and she wasn't sure if it was making the knot in there worse or if t would make her forget about it.

After a minute, he reluctantly broke their kiss off, and pulled his face back slightly to look down at her. She did her best to avoid meeting his eyes directly without making it obvious that's what she was doing; with any luck he'd forgotten all about her admitting to accidentally practising Occlumency on him, last year, and she didn't want to remind  _either_  of them.

She didn't have to try for long, because Marcus was evidently eager to get back to kissing her; she pretended not to notice the way his hands kept creeping higher, because in that moment, it seemed preferable to eye contact; but eventually, they wandered too far, and his mouth on hers became uncomfortably persistent.

"Wait," she managed, clutching his wrists and tugging his hands away from their intended destination, "I - stop, you're making me nervous..."

Marcus frowned, and she didn't need legilimency to see his disappointment. She felt a flash of confusing guilt; she wasn't certain if it was deserved or not.

"Sorry," he said, after a moment. "I guess I couldn't help myself for a minute."

He grinned, and moved his arms around her waist, somewhere she was more comfortable with them being.

"You really are the  _best_  kind of girl," he murmured with unrestrained admiration.


	9. Chapter 9

"That's obviously no good," Percy said stiffly, wrinkling his nose slightly, and waving his wand, resetting the spell. "I suppose you'll have to try again."

Well, its tail disappeared," Calista sighed. "That's a start, right?"

"Hardly." Percy's voice was flat, humourless; but then, that wasn't really unusual for him.

"Are you going to ask me what actually happened in my Defence class, or are you just going to act like you already know?"

Percy's cheeks turned pink. "That's hardly relevant to the state of your Vanishing Spell."

Calista exhaled forcefully. "You're still talking to me," she said, "So you haven't decided to hate me, you're just being fussy -"

"Professor McGonagall has charged me with tutoring you," Percy said, unhappily. "I can't very well abandon that charge just before the O.W.L. exams."

Calista blinked, and swallowed a lump in her throat; she imagined she could feel it sinking down into her stomach and becoming entangled in the knot that had been living there for weeks now.

"So… so that's the only reason you're still talking to me?" she asked, "Because - because you  _have_  to?"

Percy frowned. "Let's just focus on the spell."

"What about Penny and Amelia? Are they - do they hate me now, too?"

"I suppose I can't speak for anyone but myself," he said, sighing with resignation. "But I don't  _hate_  you, Calista. I just don't think…"

He pushed his glasses up his nose, and squared his shoulders. "I'm angling to be Head Boy in two years' time," he said, earnestly. "I have to be careful about the way people  _perceive_  things, you know."

The knot in her stomach hardened. She stood up, snatching her Transfiguration text off the study table. "Well, then. Perceive  _this_ ," she said acidly, "I'll make it easy for you, I'm done. I guess I need to find another tutor. And… and apparently, another friend."

Well, that wasn't difficult, lately. She had nearly everyone in Slytherin House lately trying to be her best friend, it seemed. And yet, that thought didn't make her nearly as happy as she supposed it ought to.

Things didn't get easier as time went on; if she'd hoped this was one of those incidents that would blow over with time, she was sorely disappointed.

Only the immense workload of her homework could distract her from the tense, awkward silence between her and her friends in Arithmancy class. A few times, she thought Amelia tried to catch her eye, but Penny always ushered her and Percy quickly out of the classroom.

Once, Amelia had sort of smiled at her from her place at the Ravenclaw table as she entered the Great Hall, but Calista had been rapidly swarmed by her housemates as she sat down, and by the time she had a chance to try and go over to her, Penny was whispering something to Amelia, and Calista lost her nerve.

Another time, Calista and Amelia had passed in the corridors between classes, but then Olivia and her friends had been coming up behind Calista, and Amelia had suddenly decided she was supposed to be walking in an entirely different direction.

Well, she wasn't going to chase after Amelia; she'd been through this before, with Emily. If Percy and maybe Penny had suddenly decided that Calista was the enemy and were catching Amelia in the middle of it, Calista wanted nothing to do with that particular kind of hurt again.

Sometimes she thought she understood exactly why they were avoiding her; after all, didn't she feel the same wariness about  _herself_  that they were evidently feeling? But then, she'd enter the Slytherin common room to a sea of friendly faces and eager friends, and Marcus would be all over her, regardless of who was around, telling her again that what she'd done had somehow been attractive, and all she felt inside was that knot, growing and twisting.

It was fortunate, at least, that the O.W.L. exams were coming up quickly. As stressful as it was, at least it gave Calista a pervasive and welcome distraction from her tangled thoughts; and she wasn't the only one.

The library was always quiet during her patrols, though it was nearly always full of students huddled over their textbooks. Even Gerald, who normally took his patrols very seriously, seemed to be spending the majority of his time in the library voraciously turning pages; and truth be told, whenever it was quiet in the corridors around the library, she did the same. She only had a couple of weeks left to get the hang of Vanishing Spells in time for exams, and in hindsight, firing her tutor had probably not been the wisest of ideas.

A few times, she thought of asking Gerald what he was studying, offering to study together - but what was the point? He, like Percy and Penny, like nearly three-quarters of the school it seemed, likely wanted nothing to do with her anymore.

Even Charms tutoring, which had been a bright spot in her schedule since she'd taken on the responsibility, had been marred.

Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff first-year that she'd been working with all year, didn't show up for two weeks after word got out about what had happened between Calista and the Defence professor. And then, when she finally did show, she spent the entire time casting nervous glances at Calista and stuttering, as if Calista was going to suddenly decide to curse the younger girl out of spite.

The thing was, she'd sort of liked Hannah up until that point, and though the younger girl often struggled with new spells, Calista was often able to help her reach a breakthrough; this time, though, Hannah's colour-change charm was doing nothing but turning her mouse's pink tail as grey as its coat, and her nervous glances were doing even less to relieve the ever-present knot of tension that lived in Calista's gut.

About an hour into their session, Gerald slipped into the classroom, and Hannah's face lit up in an expression of relief that was as painful to Calista as it was palpable.

Calista narrowed her eyes. "Why don't you have Gerald help you instead?" she snarled, in an attempt to cover the hurt with irritation; Hannah started, and that made Calista feel even worse.

"Oh… erm… n-no thanks," Hannah had stammered. She'd left, still unable to work the charm, a few moments later, and Calista had gone, too, before someone else could come in and look at her like she was a dragon.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

"How are your revisions coming?" Severus asked quietly, as he performed a quick, cursory check on the strength of the new barrier Calista had erected on his instruction, just beyond the boundary of what had once been her outermost wall.

"Okay, I guess. You said to create a weaker one; is that good enough?

"Believe it or not, I'm going to ask you to weaken it further," Severus said wryly; had he imagined that this would ever be necessary? "You're displaying too much of your strength at the outset for what I have planned next. You'll want perhaps half that strength; and fill in the space between that and your barriers proper, so it's not clear there are any others."

She nodded; this was child's play to her at this point, after all. She drew some strength back into her core from the new barrier, and allowed a flood of thoughts and memories, some inconsequential and some not, to fill in the space.

"That will work nicely," he said, withdrawing.

Calista looked up from her Transfiguration notes, a question in her eyes.

"We're going to start something new today," he said, "And for this, you will need to concentrate, so perhaps it's best if you close your textbook."

She complied, tilting her head. "Am I… am I going to practise legilimency?"

"Ah, in a manner of speaking, yes. Only, you will not try to enter my mind. Instead, when I enter your mind, I'm going to give you a topic or an event, and how I would like you to display your reaction to the topic."

"Like you showed me before, where you made it seem as if you hated Professor McGonagall?"

"Something like that, yes. If you can manage it, I'd like you to chain more than one piece of information to support the reaction, though. So, for example, if I asked you to show me that you hated Professor McGonagall, you might show me your emotional response, as well as a memory of her correcting you in class, or a memory of you and your friends discussing your dislike for her."

"What if I don't have anything like that? Should I try to change an existing memory, or create a false one?"

"Eventually, that will be the goal; for now, I think it would be too much additional strain. I want your reactions to be quick."

He readied his wand, nodded to her. "Ready?"

She took a breath and nodded.

"All right," he said, "Let's begin with your hating Professor McGonagall then, as we've already discussed it.  _Legilimens_."

Calista reached hastily for memories she thought might fit the bill; she drew forward the memory of Professor McGonagall telling her she'd be held back a year if she couldn't pass her exams, and the one where she'd been accused of cheating on her homework. She tried to feel angry, instead of embarrassed and hurt, like she had been…

"Don't manufacture the reaction," Severus instructed, "Use emotions you already have."

Anger, hate… what did she have inside her that she could draw those feelings from? Well, that was easy…

She reached for the feelings she had about Bellatrix; the hatred, the anger, the revulsion, the…

"Fear," Severus said softly, shaking his head. "Not what I asked for."

She tried again, attempting to tamp the fear down, but it was difficult; she knew he must still be able to read her terror, because she could almost  _feel_  it again.

"Try a different source for the emotion," he said, after the fourth or fifth failed attempt. "That one seems too powerful for you to separate properly right now."

What else did she have? As if in an effort to help her, the permanent knot in her stomach twisted; of course. She reached for the revulsion, the hatred she had felt when she'd been attacked in the classroom by Professor Quirrell, and wove that thread of feeling into the pattern of the two McGonagall memories she'd selected.

"Better," Severus murmured, "Let's try another. Excitement, for your exams."

"It would be easier to show fear," she muttered, but she sifted through her memories, dutifully. She showed herself bent over a stack of textbooks, selecting a volume from a library shelf, and then entering the examination classroom, quill at the ready. She scrabbled for an emotional response, stumbled on one that was perfect: their first trip into Hogsmeade, when she'd been small. She had not really known what to expect, but she'd known it would be fun.

His lip quirked. There was something about the way the particular emotion she had chosen to share felt, as he touched it. It was, perhaps, too warm to really apply to exams; he hoped its true source had something to do with him.

"Friendship," he said, "Towards… ah, let's try the Avril girl, I think."

She dutifully conjured memories of Olivia. She chose a few from her first year, before their falling out had begun, thinking it would be easier to attach the emotion to those, and she reached for a suitable thread of feeling -

She felt something, reached for it; her friendship with Percy - but no, that was tinged with resentment now. She reached for another - Amelia - but  _that_  one was fraught with uncertainty. Frustrated, she pulled for something else - a feeling from the early stages of her friendship with Marcus, before she'd had other feelings for him - but she knew at once that this one was too complicated, and  _why_  was there a ribbon of guilt pervading it?

"Sorry," she muttered, "I - I guess I can't really find any good memories of that right now to pull from."

Severus lowered his wand, eyes searching her expression; but it was blank, carefully blank, just as he'd often instructed.

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not really. But it's nothing you can help with."

"Do you… would you like to discuss it? We can return to this in a little while, if you wish."

She hesitated, then shook her head, again. "No, there's no point. Let's just keep going."

He frowned, regarded her a moment longer; he saw a flicker of uncertainty, or perhaps it was unhappiness, in her eyes, but it was nothing terribly alarming, and he could see by the set of her jaw that she didn't want to talk. He sighed, and lifted his wand.

"Sadness regarding a Quidditch match," he prompted, a deliberate softball. "Slytherin's loss to Gryffindor."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

It was an extraordinarily warm day for May, and even though exams were right around the corner, Calista had agreed to go for a walk with Marcus. They'd gone out to the Quidditch pitch, though there was evidently no expectation of flying, since Marcus hadn't even bothered to bring his broomstick.

Nothing, these days, did anything to relive the knot in her stomach; it sat there, like a hard, pervasive little stone, and even focusing on revisions for exams couldn't chase it away or detangle it in the slightest anymore; she hoped now, almost desperately, that the distraction of Marcus would work when nothing else had.

Since it was so warm, both of them had cast their school robes aside as soon as they'd gotten to the pitch; underneath, Marcus wore black trousers and a green T-shirt that Calista couldn't help but notice his muscles in. She remembered, suddenly, the first time they'd gone flying together, when he'd wrapped his arms around her and she'd noticed how very much like a  _boy_  he'd felt; well, he didn't much look like a boy, anymore. She inhaled, and bit her lip.

She'd forgotten, again, to set her laundry out for the house elves, and so was wearing one of her new outfits - a lightweight, delicate looking blouse from Narcissa, and a dark green skirt that was most likely intended to be knee-length, but the last measurements Narcissa had had to go by were from last summer, and Calista grown taller since then, so it was a bit shorter. She'd refused to wear the tights, though, no matter how soft the ones Narcissa always bought her were.

Incredibly, they had the Quidditch pitch to themselves on a beautiful, warm afternoon -she supposed it should have served as a reminder that she should be studying, as everyone else undoubtedly was; but the hard, writhing knot in her gut had stifled her more than the still, warm air inside the castle.

As soon as Calista and Marcus had reached their customary spot at the far end of the pitch, he'd reached for her hands, and half-heartedly attempted to pull her down an aisle in between sections of the stands; he nearly always tried, and she had always refused… but she wasn't quite forbidden anymore, though she  _still_  hadn't told him so.

She let him pull her into the shadows between the stands; as soon as they were hidden from view, she wrapped her arms around his neck, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him, as eagerly and boldly as she ever had done.

Marcus responded in kind, wrapping one arm tightly around her waist, and putting his other hand at the back of her head; his fingers wove themselves into the base of her ponytail, and even if she'd wanted to stop kissing him, she couldn't have done so, in that moment.

Her heart raced; she felt a light, nervous pressure somewhere in her chest; if only it would expand, release the tension of the knot that still sat, firmly in her gut… she closed her eyes, tried to stop thinking.

He broke their kiss suddenly, though his fingers were still tangled in her ponytail. She felt warmth by her neck, and suddenly he was kissing that again, leaving a trail up and down, from just behind her ear to her collarbone. He released her waist, and then she felt fingertips at the base of her throat.

Her eyes flew open. He was looking at her, an intense question in his eyes; he fingered the top button of her blouse.

"Can I see…?"

Her heart was in her throat now; she felt like it was right under his fingers, like he might be able to crush it if he wanted to.

"I don't… I don't know," she stammered, "Not here. I can't - I'm nervous."

He sighed, and lifted his fingers away; but he kept his eyes on her, and then leaned forward, kissing her again, more softly this time.

"Okay," he said quietly, reaching for her waist. "Well… how about this, then? Is this okay?"

His fingers snaked under the hem of her blouse, travelling slowly along the skin of her stomach. She felt the knot ease, just slightly, underneath them, though she feared she might start vibrating with nerves. She sucked in a breath, and nodded her assent. "I.. I guess."

The hand at her stomach travelled slowly upwards; his other came down from her hair to wrap around her waist again. She closed her eyes again, and returned his kisses. His fingers were wandering further than she'd ever allowed before, but the knot in her stomach was dissolving, or else her heart was racing intensely enough to make her forget about it - either way, she didn't care. She just wanted, for a few minutes, to stop feeling so heavy, so conflicted, so twisted up inside.

And then, she felt his other hand on her skin too, slipping under the back of her shirt, fingers creeping up towards the small of her back -

She imagined she could feel a sharp, warning pain shooting through the scars there, before his fingers even reached the raised lines. She pulled back, put her hands at his chest, and pushed him away. The knot in her gut was suddenly so heavy she nearly doubled over.

"No!" she said, quickly, pulling away from him. "Don't - don't do that!"

He looked bewildered, and a little frustrated, shaking his head and reaching for her wrists. "I - I'm sorry," he stammered, "I didn't think - I thought it was okay."

She shivered, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the late afternoon sun, pulled her wrists out of his grip, and walked quickly out of the gap in the stands, folding her arms around herself. She grabbed her school robes, pulled them roughly on. She was trembling forcefully; it was hard to get her arms in the sleeves.

"Calista," Marcus managed, strained, "What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing," she said quietly, wrapping her robes around herself, and retreating quickly away from him. "It's - I think… I think I'm going to be sick."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

She  _was_  sick, or she would have been, if she'd managed to eat much of anything that day. Instead, she suffered through several minutes of dry heaves in the washroom of her father's quarters, and told herself that the stinging and blurring in her eyes was caused solely by that.

He wasn't in his quarters, for which she couldn't decide whether she was grateful or angry. He might have had a class; hell,  _she_  might have had a class, for all she could think straight. After a few minutes, she gave up on pretending not to cry, and slid down the wall, tucking herself into the corner of the washroom next to the stone basin. She pulled her knees up to her chest, and wrapped her arms around them, letting her face fall into the hollow they created and sobbed, quietly but forcefully, in a way that she hadn't allowed herself to do for years.

She didn't know how long she was there before a soft tap came at the door, and it slowly creaked open.

She didn't lift her face at first, felt suddenly ashamed to be here, crying on her father's washroom floor, over… over  _what_? She didn't even know if she could say, anymore, there were so many things that had been weighing on her, had been weaving themselves into the dreadful knot that had taken over her insides…

She felt herself being pulled up, gently, by her elbow, and she looked up to see her father's face, creased with concern, and… and a wary tenderness that brought a flash of memory to her mind -

_She was screaming, as stone walls came dimly into focus around her; there was something, a sharp pain, at her back, and what if - what if - she reached her hands back, scrabbling for something, she didn't know what, in the area of her scars - and then she was being held, securely and firmly. 'Calista,' she heard, muffled at first as if heard through deep water, 'You're safe.'_

"Calista," he said quietly now, and his voice was precisely the same as it had been in her memory; only he didn't tell her she was safe - how could he, honestly, when half of what she was afraid of lived inside her, and the other half of it was trying to?

"What's wrong?" he asked, instead, leading her out of the washroom, and down the narrow corridor to his study. He motioned for her to sit, in the one chair that wasn't piled high with books, then stood beside it, placing his hand on her shoulder.

To her shame, his gentle tone made her feel dangerously close to tears again; but  _damn it_ , she was sixteen years old now, and she was a reasonably powerful Occlumens, she should be above this…

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak yet, while she did her best to neutralise her expression. She took in a fortifying breath, preparing to force her feelings further down into the recesses of her mind, to deal with later - only, wasn't that what she'd been doing for weeks? So far, it didn't really seem to be helping her cope.

As if he'd sensed her thoughts, or perhaps saw her try to hide them, Severus crouched, slightly, and looked at her solemnly. "If you're hiding your feelings because this is something you'd rather talk to your aunt about, I'll get her on the fire for you -"

Calista shook her head again, more vehemently.

"But," Severus continued, "If you're hiding them because you think you have to...Calista, this isn't an Occlumency lesson."

He saw, faintly, an answering flicker in her expression, and there was a terrible sense of the familiar about it. He was reminded, in that instant, of so many one-sided conversations with her much younger self, when she'd been little more than a silent haunt across the table, answering him only with gestures and half-hidden expressions, if she even answered him at all.

He'd known that she feared him, back then, feared everyone. He had also thought it possible at the time that she disliked him greatly; hated him, even. But then, eventually he had learned that she'd evidently  _wanted_  to open up to him, but had kept silent for fear that he would discover her unfounded fear that she was a Squib, and would reject her for it.

"No matter what you're feeling," he added, on a sudden instinct, "I would never think any less of you for it, if that's what you're worried about."

She sucked in a shuddery breath. "Are you sure?"

He nodded, eyes locked on hers so she could see the truth of his words for herself. He expected to see fear or pain, when she lowered her guard - but there was something else too, something darker and edgier that he couldn't quite name - and yet it was, undoubtedly, a feeling he knew.

"I just - I don't even know where to start," she said, voice catching. "It's all just… everything's just - "

A tear managed to slip down her cheek again, and she looked suddenly ashamed. "Sorry," she said, reaching up to dash it away. Severus frowned, and as soon as her hand had cleared her face and returned to her lap, he reached for her, despite the physical awkwardness that the wings of the chair back created. She pressed her face into his shoulder and, reactively, he tightened his hold on her.

Suddenly, Calista felt the knot in her gut writhe and shift as it seemed to loosen just a bit; and then, she was crying again, really crying and she knew that she was probably soaking the shoulder of her father's robes; but he was still holding on to her, as if she _were_  still just eight years old and recovering from a nightmare, and she decided, for a minute, to pretend that was precisely what was happening.

Severus felt her trembling gradually slow; then she lifted her face, and took a steadying, shuddering breath, and he let go of her, turning away under the guise of clearing the stack of books off the room's' other chair to give her a moment's privacy to compose herself again.

When he judged he'd allowed her long enough, he pulled the newly-cleared chair closer to hers, and settled himself in it, leaning forward slightly.

"So," he said, and this time instead of asking what was wrong, he instructed her. "Tell me what's upsetting you."

She made a noise that was half breathy exhale, half bitter laugh. "All of it? I hope you have a lot of time…"

"I do."

She brushed at her cheek again, though he hadn't seen another tear form. "I - I really don't even know where to start," she said again. "I don't know if I have any friends, anymore - and if I do, I'm not sure they're friends I'd even want to have. I think I want to break up with Marcus, for pretty much no reason except that I can't stand the thought of ever having to tell him about the fact that I have scars on my back that look like a bloody Dark Mark, and then  _we_  probably won't be friends anymore, either… I've been a lousy Prefect and a lousy Charms tutor lately, and I  _know_  I haven't done enough revision for my own exams, because I haven't been able to concentrate for weeks and I can't even really bring myself to  _care_ -"

"Weeks," Severus broke in, running through the calculation in his mind, "Four weeks, perhaps?"

It had been four weeks almost to the day since she'd been attacked in the Defence classroom; had he been a fool to think she'd gotten over it? Perhaps she  _was_  more frightened by the incident than she had initially let on...

She was nodding, confirming his timeline.

"No one - no one outside of Slytherin will talk to me anymore," she said, "They all think I'm - evil, or something, because of what happened with Quirrell-"

Severus had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from responding to that; his gut response was anger, and he didn't think it would be productive to let her see it, just then.

"And everyone  _in_  Slytherin thinks I'm just so  _interesting_  now, for the same reason," she continued, and then there was that flash, that spark of something dark and heavy in her eyes, and he had a feeling they were coming to the crux of the matter. "And I'm so tired of everyone else telling me that it makes me evil, or it makes me interesting, or it makes me  _anything_  when I still haven't - I still haven't been able to process how  _I_  feel about it."

"Calista," Severus began, placatingly, but Calista interrupted him before he could say anything else.

"I know what you're going to say. You keep telling me it's all right, that I didn't really do anything wrong and that I'm  _supposed_  to cast spells like that - but that can't be true, that can't be right, it's… it's  _not_  all right, what I did."

"Calista," he said again, with slightly more force.

" _It's not_ ," she said, again, "And it has nothing to do with Quirrell - nothing to do with  _who_  I cursed, or even  _why_. I know he attacked me, I know he deserved it, no matter what all of my so-called friends have decided to believe, but that  _isn't the point_."

Severus leaned forward slightly. "Then tell me, Calista, what  _is_  the point?"

"The point," she said, "Is that it may have been justifiable, and I may have felt horrified after I saw the damage I inflicted, but when I was casting…"

Something shifted in the depths of her dark eyes; there it was again, that darker, sharper emotion - and this time, he felt a sharp ache as he recognised it, because it sat too close to many of his own demons.

Perhaps she felt the weight of his searching look, since she retreated further back into her chair, as if she could disappear through the back of it, before she continued speaking.

"It was too easy," she said, not for the first time. "I didn't think; I didn't try. I just lifted my wand, and opened my mouth, and it was just this rush… I felt, for a second, incredibly powerful, like nothing I've  _ever_  felt before - and the thing is - the worst part is - I don't even know if I can  _say_  this..."

"You liked it," Severus said, quietly, matter-of-factly, and Calista nodded.

"I liked it," she confirmed, hollowly.

She exhaled, pushed a strand of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail out of her eyes. "It wasn't like practising with you. That always feels - deliberate. This was like... I know it sounds mad, but for a second, afterwards, I was afraid - it felt almost like  _she_  was in my head again, was casting the spell for me. But she wasn't, Dad - and that's the thing that's been just  _sitting_ here inside me, this great, twisted  _mess_  that's making me replay it over and over in my head, and it makes me want to throw up every time I think about it. It  _wasn't_  her, but it felt like her.  _I_  felt like her."

"I already told you, quite definitively, that you're not like her," Severus said softly, "I could tell you a hundred times more, and I'm willing to - but something tells me, it's not enough, is it?"

She shook her head, miserably.

"All right, then," he said, "Would it help if I told you that I feel the same way, when I cast Dark magic?"

"You do?"

He nodded, solemnly. "I imagine everyone does, Calista. Or everyone who's any good at it, anyway."

He saw her absorb his words, but still, the heavy, shadowed emotion in her eyes lingered.

"I know the burden of self-loathing well," he said, deceptively light, "And you must know, Calista, you've simply no right to carry it."

"Dad," she said, "I know you're trying to help, but… you don't understand…'

"I don't?"

"I don't see how you could…"

Severus exhaled; his eyes roved again over his daughter's face, the dark eyes that mirrored his own, more than he liked in that moment. He made a decision, leaning forward.

"Sixteen years old," he said, quietly, intently. "You've always been interested in Dark Magic, but lately you've been experimenting, and you're afraid you might be hooked on the power; you think perhaps you should stop, but then, there are enough people in your life that would hurt you - badly, if given the chance. You don't want to be caught unprepared. Is any of this sounding right, Calista?"

She nodded, slowly, hesitantly.

"You have - or, you fear,  _had_  - friends who have always loathed each other, but until recently, you've managed to hang on to all of them, despite mounting tensions. You may even have been asked to choose, but you never had to, not really - not until  _the incident_  happened, and then your actions chose for you, though at the time they were instinct rather than choice. And you think, perhaps, that says more about you than if you  _had_  chosen - are you drawn naturally, you wonder, to revel in the darkest parts of your nature?"

"Okay," she managed, and he could hear a tremble in her voice again; saw a flicker in those dark eyes. "That's… that's frighteningly accurate…"

"Is it?" Severus asked, not quite managing to disguise the slightest tremor in his own voice. "I suppose it's only right to tell you, then, that I wasn't describing you at all; I was describing  _myself_ , at your age. But I couldn't  _possibly_ understand, could I?..."

It was her turn to learn forward, to search  _his_  face.

"What did you do?" she breathed, "How do I stop hating myself, after what happened?"

"You're asking me two very different questions, Calista." He rose, suddenly not able to continue this particular conversation with so little physical distance between them. He paced to the far side of the small room, and faced away from her, under the guise of perusing a row of books.

"I did - I did precisely all the wrong things," he said, "I never saw - I wasn't able to see the cost of any of it, until it was far too late."

"Well, what if that happens to  _me_?"

"No," Severus said, turning to face her, but staying at the far end of the room. "It won't. You do understand the cost, Calista; I've made sure you do. Perhaps you understand it  _too_  well; I never intended for you to feel this way over needing to defend yourself."

He could tell, even in the dim light, even from this distance, that she remained unconvinced.

"Let me ask you," he said, "How many times have you cast Dark magic since Quirrell attacked you?"

"I - well, I haven't."

"And before you were attacked? When was the last time you cursed anyone, outside of our lessons?"

She thought back. "Portia MacNair," she said.

He nodded. "So, not since your first year, when you cast a curse that half of the students in this school have cast or will cast on one of their classmates."

She blinked. "Hang on," she said, "I was in  _so much trouble_  for that at the time, and now you're acting like it doesn't even matter…"

"I thought I made it clear that you were never in trouble for that curse; you were in trouble for threatening to make a pattern of it. I couldn't let you repeat my mistakes, Calista…"

"What mistakes?" she asked, quietly. "What did you do?"

"I - I'm not prepared to tell you everything," he said, "Not yet, anyway. But you  _know_  where it all ended up…"

"You took the Mark," she said, quietly, and he nodded, eyes shadowed.

"Well," she continued, and he could feel her fear, the bitterness in her words, even though he wasn't looking at her anymore. "I have that already, don't I?"

"You know the difference," he said, feeling suddenly wounded, though he couldn't say precisely why.

"Knowing it's different doesn't change anything," she insisted, "It doesn't take it away. It doesn't make it any easier to explain to anyone else. I still can't remember enough to explain it to  _myself_..."

He frowned; perhaps he had been wrong to allow this turn of conversation; what if she started to remember, now? He didn't know if it would make her feel better or worse to know precisely where her scars had come from - but he  _did_  know that now, when she was vulnerable and already filled with dark feelings, was not the right time for her to revisit that particular pain.

"You don't need to explain it to anyone right now," he said, "In fact, I think it best if you keep it secret, for the time being. Furthermore…"

He crossed the room again, leaning his weight of the back of his chair; he could hardly believe he was about to say what he was…

"If that's  _truly_  the only reason you wish to break things off with your - with the Flint boy - then I think perhaps you should reconsider."

She blinked, sheer surprise managing to knock some of the shadows, at least temporarily, out of her face. "Erm… what? You're telling me  _not_  to break up with him - who are you, and what have you done with my father?"

"As much as I'm loathe to admit it," Severus said, grudgingly, "The boy has rather exceeded my expectations. I believe that he genuinely cares for you, though I do still wish he could manage to do so from a distance of say, fifteen paces away from you."

"Fifteen? Wow, you really  _do_  like him… I'm certain you said twenty the last time this came up."

"Twenty, then."

"I suppose it's not as though I really have any  _other_  friends right now," she said, "Except for more 'evil' Slytherins."

Severus' lip curled slightly. "You've already attempted to explain the reality of the situation to your friends, I assume?"

"Of course I have, but…"

"They'll come around," he said, "And if they don't... then perhaps you deserve better friends."

"What about the ones who only like me  _because_  of what happened?"

"You're clever enough to know who they are," he pointed out, "I don't expect you'll allow them to change you."

She managed a small, sad sort of smile. "I wish I thought as much of myself as  _you_  seem to."

"I don't," he said, but she could hear the familiar bite of teasing sarcasm in his tone, "You're insufferable enough as it is."

She chuckled, weakly. "Thanks for that."

"Now," he scanned her face again, "Are you feeling any better, yet?"

"I - "

She blinked; somehow, during the course of their conversation, the knot in her gut must have dwindled and unravelled; it was still there, but it felt much smaller, easier to bear.

"I think I am."

"Good." He stepped in front of his chair, offered out his hand to help her up from hers. She took it, and when she stood, they were nearly eye-to-eye.

"These things, Calista… self-loathing, doubt, isolation… they have a way of consuming you, if you let them."

She nodded, slowly; she thought it was a good way to describe the gnawing feeling that had led her to dry-heave in his washroom.

"The urge to escape those feelings can lead you in some very wrong directions," he continued, and she wondered if he knew, somehow, precisely how reckless she'd been feeling in the moments before she ended up in his quarters, or if he was simply reflecting, again, on his own past. "Some of them are… very difficult to turn back from. Some are impossible."

He was speaking of himself, again; she was sure of it. But then, it sounded as if they had trod awfully similar paths, after all…

It wasn't until later, when she lay awake fighting the ghosts of her darkest thoughts, that she remembered the  _other_  thing that had happened, when her father was sixteen.

 _Her_.


	10. Chapter 10

After her conversation with her father, something had definitely shifted within Calista, and she was finally able to concentrate on her studies again. Since exams were literally around the corner, she wasted none of that ability, and spent nearly every free minute in the library. She  _had_  to get the hang of Vanishing Spells, or she'd never get her O.W.L.

Even Marcus was focused on school more than usual, since he was retaking several of his O.W.L.s, and he'd suggested they study together, but Calista knew better by now, knew that he was bound to spend more time studying  _her_  than studying his textbooks… she'd placated him by offering to go flying with him as soon as exams were over. And she'd told him, finally, that her father had relented, and said they could be alone, as long as they weren't behind a closed door.

She had been worried, at first, that he would be cross with her for running off without an explanation, that day on the Quidditch pitch; worried, too, that perhaps he  _had_  managed to feel her scars before she'd shoved him away - what would she say if he asked about them?

Instead, miraculously, he'd only asked her if she was all right, and whether she was cross with him - but then, she  _had_  told him that she'd been with her father, when she returned to the common room that evening, so perhaps he'd only been trying to ensure he wasn't poisoned right before the final Quidditch match of the year.

Slytherin was looking to win the Quidditch Cup, as long as they won their final match by at least twenty points, and they were on track to win the House Cup again, too. For a while, Gryffindor had been leading, but then, the famous Harry Potter and his friends had managed to lose them a hundred and fifty points overnight. Calista couldn't  _imagine_  what had really happened to lose so many points in one go, but Draco was telling anyone who would listen that it had to do with a dragon.

He was also bragging about fighting off some sort of creature in the Forbidden Forest during a nighttime detention, but Calista assumed he had to be lying about that, at least; after all, students were never allowed in the forest. Even  _she_  could go only if her father went with her. Still, she saw no good reason to call him out on the tale; it seemed to impress his friends, and it certainly wasn't hurting anyone.

She'd seen an awful lot of Draco and his friends lately; they seemed to flock to her in the common room, and she'd seen them often enough in the library this week, too - once, his friend Gregory had approached her to ask her to point them towards a book that might contain one of the secret spells, but she'd shushed him dramatically and then solemnly and firmly told him that they had to discover it on their own. Then, once he'd retreated, she'd propped her textbook up to hide a smile behind its pages. It had faltered only when she'd imagined telling Amelia about the interaction, and then remembered that Amelia still wasn't' speaking to her. She hoped her father was right, about her friends coming around eventually.

The Saturday before exams began, her father had let her off Occlumency lessons so she could study, so after taking breakfast with him in his quarters, she'd gone straight to the library, armed with all of her textbooks and a few extra volumes she thought ought to be helpful in case she found something she wanted to research further. Severus had warned her that they often added questions to the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. level exams that weren't covered in the general curriculum, to sort out the students that took the initiative to study outside of the classroom - one way, she supposed, that they might separate Outstanding from Exceeds Expectations.

She reached for Transfiguration text first, deciding to get it out of the way early in the day so she could end with subjects she felt more confident about; it was a tactic that made her feel slightly less hopeless about her prospects, at the end of the day.

She was trying to Vanish a button when someone said her name, and she started, accidentally knocking it to the floor.

"Calista?"

A face poked around the stack of textbooks in front of her; a curious, bespectacled face.

"Hi, Gerald…" she said, uncertainly, and then, "How did you know it was me?"

He smiled slyly, straightening, and shifted the books balanced in his own arms so that he could use one hand to gesture to the spines on her books.

" _Encyclopaedia of Ancient Runes_ ," he read, " _Shadow Charms. Modificus Totalus: Variants on Elemental Incantations._  If it wasn't you, then someone stole a whole lot of your favourite books. Couldn't very well let that go unpunished, as a Prefect, eh?"

"No, I… I guess not." Was that why he had bothered to speak to her, then? Because he was trying to be a good Prefect? She wondered if he, like Percy, was angling to be Head Boy. She wondered if he was worried how their friendship - if they still had one - might be  _perceived_.

"Mind if I set these down?" he asked, easily, gesturing to the surface of her study table.

"Oh - erm, no, of course not." She shifted her own stack of books closer to the centre of the table to make room. After a second, she also shifted herself over on the bench, in case he wanted to sit down.

He set his books down carefully, and slid onto the bench next to her. If it had been Marcus, he would have been practically on top of her; Amelia would have shoved her over further with her shoulder to make sure they both had equal room. Gerald, however, perched on the edge of the bench, leaving a respectable distance between them.

He studied her a moment, and she looked quickly down at her Transfiguration text again; if his expression was going to turn hostile, she couldn't bear to see it, not after everyone  _else_ had turned on her.

"So… erm… you're looking as if you feel a bit better," Gerald ventured, after a moment. "You're… doing okay?"

She glanced up; he didn't  _sound_  like he loathed her.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Still behind on revisions, though…"

He smiled, nodding his understanding. "Me, too. Or at least, I certainly never feel like I've done  _enough_ , you know?"

"Yeah." She sighed. She supposed she ought to get this over with. "So, are you cross with me?"

"Cross with you?" Gerald frowned, small wrinkles of perplexion appearing in his forehead. "Why would I be cross with you? Unless you mean for being a bit distant the last few weeks - but I assumed, of course, it was because of your O.W.L. exams, and that's perfectly understandable. When I was studying for mine last year, I refused to even open my mail for over a month. Thought it would be too distracting. Mum ended up writing to my friends to make sure I wasn't dead. Bit embarrassing, that was…"

Calista blinked, and shook her head slightly. "Distant? You haven't spoken to me in weeks…"

"Well, you seemed preoccupied, and - ah, a bit upset all the time. And I was going to ask you if you were all right, that day during tutoring when you snapped at that first-year Hufflepuff, but then you stormed out and I thought, it's never a good idea to chase an angry girl…" His cheeks turned slightly pink. "Well, an angry anyone, really."

"So then," Calista said, hopefully, "You don't hate me? Because of… because of what happened in my Defence class?"

He looked thoroughly confused. "Why would  _I_  hate you? It's not like you hexed  _me_  - if you even hexed anyone, of course. All I've heard are rumours, mind you."

"Quirrell attacked me," she told him, quietly and matter-of-factly. "He said it was a demonstration, but it wasn't, not really. It was creepy, and I - I defended myself. With - with Dark magic."

He nodded, frowning slightly; she felt her heart speed up with nerves. Was this going to be the official doom to yet another of her friendships?

"That's… ah, well, that's pretty much the rumour I heard," he admitted, "I wasn't sure what to think though, I mean - I couldn't understand how…"

 _How you weren't expelled_ , Calista waited for him to continue. She clenched her jaw, anticipating the row.

"How they could let him continue teaching, if he attacked a student. A  _Prefect_ , even." Gerald finished.

Calista felt her eyes blur; she could very nearly cry with relief. She didn't, though; she unclenched her jaw and exhaled, and blinked until her vision was clear again.

"That's what I've been wondering," she managed, "But at least my Dad was able to get me out of his classes for the rest of term."

Gerald frowned, again, brow furrowing once more. "Well, that's really not fair," he said.

Calista's jaw clenched again.

"It's your O.W.L. year," he said, sounding suddenly outraged, "Defence is a really important subject - you need at least an O.W.L. and usually a N.E.W.T. for a whole slew of career paths. How can the school let a professor intimidate someone out of the class like that, at the end of  _fifth year_? For the love of Merlin, It's your  _future_  at stake!"

"Oh," Calista said, nearly laughing with relief as her jaw relaxed again, "It's all right, that part. My Dad's been taking over those lessons for me. He's - he's a very good teacher. He should probably  _be_  the Defence teacher, actually."

"I've wondered about that, you know," Gerald said, "And of course, it's all rumours again so please forgive me if I'm out of line here - but people say he wants the Defence post, Professor Snape, but the Headmaster won't give it to him, because - " and here Gerald craned his neck, to look around their textbooks, before lowering his voice and continuing, "Because he thinks - Professor Snape, I mean - that we ought to be learning the Dark Arts proper, and not just defence…"

"That's… well I can't speak for the entirety of the rumours," Calista said, hesitantly. As far as she knew, Gerald didn't have a particular prejudice against her father, and she didn't want to give him one. "But he does believe you should understand precisely what you're defending  _against_  in order to do a proper job, yes."

"Well, I can't say I disagree," Gerald said, and then he shook his head again. "But then, they say the post is cursed, so perhaps it's best if he doesn't go for it, eh? Besides, he's doing a fine job as the Potions Master, isn't he? I scored Outstanding on my O.W.L. and I'm not too proud to admit it was partially because pushed me so much - hated all those long essays at the  _time_ , though. And he's certainly not any easier on the N.E.W.T. students, let me tell you..."

He stopped suddenly, flushing slightly. "Sorry. I forgot, for a moment, who I was talking to. I didn't mean any offence…"

Calista smirked. "None taken, honestly. I know  _exactly_  what you mean."

"So… so anyway," he said, shaking his head slightly, "I came here to brush up a bit for my own exams, but I had no idea you had to leave off your Defence classes, what bloody rubbish. I reckon I remember what was on the exam last year fairly well, if you'd like to go over it."

Calista's smirk shifted into a genuine smile. "Really? You - you wouldn't mind?"

"Not in the slightest. Er - for a little bit, anyway. Then I really  _do_  need to get back to Ancient Runes. I don't suppose you'll let me borrow your encyclopaedia there?"

"Of course you can," Calista said, "It's the least I can do, for…"

 _For still being my friend,_ she thought. "For helping me study for Defence," she said instead.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

The next day, Calista was comparing her revisions checklist against the information that Gerald had given her about the Defence exam. She had been prepared for most of the topics, but he had told her that the exam last year had included a section on the Patronus Charm, which she hadn't yet studied at all.

He had reassured her, at least, that a practical example wasn't expected, but they had asked about the incantation, the method for conjuring one, and it uses. He had also confided that he was trying to learn the Charm himself, because he had heard from Flitwick that it  _did_  sometimes come up in practise on the Charms N.E.W.T. exams at the end of seventh year, though most students weren't expected to actually be able to produce a fully corporeal Patronus.

"We could practise together," Gerald had offered, and Calista had agreed at the time, but now, reading through the chapter on Patronuses in her textbook, she was second-guessing that decision. Conjuring one was said to require intense concentration on one's happiest memories, in addition to a great deal of talent for Charmwork. She supposed she had  _one_  of those things, but… did she even  _have_  enough happy memories? Was there some sort of balance required, of negative memories to positive ones? What if she couldn't manage to summon one at all?

"Calista." An imperious little voice and a sudden weight on the sofa next to her interrupted her reverie.

"There's some Ravenclaw girl out in the corridor asking for you," Draco said, sounding moderately irritated. "I found her trying to barge into our common room and she asked if you were here."

"A Ravenclaw?" Could it be Amelia or Penny? "Who?"

"How should I know?" Draco asked, shrugging, as if names were a thing one could not ask for. "But you ought to let her know that  _no one_  except for Slytherins is allowed in here -"

"I'll… thanks, I'll tell her," she said, setting her book aside on the sofa. She glanced at Draco, who was eyeing it with a very sly look, and on second thought decided to take it with her. She tucked it under her arm, much to her younger cousin's evident chagrin.

She strode over to the common room door, and opened it, looking warily out.

It  _was_  Amelia, and her round face lit up in a mingled expression of remorse and relief when she saw Calista.

"Calista, I'm sorry!" Amelia said, before Calista had even managed to extract herself fully into the corridor.

She was startled to feel the other girl's arms spring around her in a nearly vise-like grip, squashing her textbook uncomfortably to her side, just as the common room door creaked shut behind her.

"We've all been dreadful prats - well, especially Percy - and  _I_  kind of thought there had to be more to the story but I kept on letting them talk me out of asking you about it, and anyway, I don't even need to ask you anymore, Gerry's perfectly right of course,  _he_  should be the one - and anyway, can you ever forgive me?"

"Amelia, I - I can't breathe."

"Sorry," Amelia said, releasing her grip on Calista, and looking up at her anxiously, "For… for everything."

"So… so you don't hate me anymore?" Calista managed.

"Of course I don't hate you," Amelia said, "You're my best friend - if you'll have me again, I mean. And if you won't, I'll just probably just bother you until you will, because I'm going absolutely bloody  _mental_  with no one to talk to but Penny and Prissy - sorry, I mean Percy. So… friends?"

"No," Calista said, and when Amelia's face fell, Calista rolled her eyes, and this time she was the one to reach for Amelia, and hug her awkwardly with one arm, textbook still cradled under the other one. "Of course we're friends, you berk. Just don't - don't ever do that to me again, all right?"

"Never," Amelia said, squeezing Calista back so tightly she could hardly breathe again. "I promise."

"So," Calista said, once Amelia had let her go again, "Is it - is it just you, or… I mean, are Penny and Percy…?"

"I don't know, really," Amelia admitted. "Percy's… well, Percy's Percy, you know? He's afraid being seen with you will 'tarnish his reputation' or something stupid like that. Penny's been kind of on the fence, she said some… some rubbish about, you might not  _want_  to do anything evil but maybe you can't help it, because of your mum -"

Calista hissed, to cover up what very likely might have otherwise become a choked sob.

"I never should have told -" she started, sagging her back against the stone wall of the dungeon corridor.

"Who cares what she says?" Amelia said, fiercely, "She's wrong, and so's Prissy Percy. I'll work on them - if I even have to, I thought Penny had a funny look when Gerry was talking about it -"

"Gerry?"

"Yeah," Amelia said, "Gerry Boot. He's - he's pretty peeved, I guess. He's in our common room right now trying to get a load of people to sign something saying Quirrell should be sacked for attacking you - well, I think it said 'victimising students and threatening their academic future' or something like that, but we all know he means you."

"He's doing  _what_?"

"Yeah," Amelia said, "It seems pretty weird, doesn't it? I mean, the whole thing was kind of ages ago now… but I signed it, anyway, and then I came straight here to apologise for being - well, a berk, I guess."

"I just talked to him about it yesterday," Calista said, conflicted. She was reeling, still, from the joint realisations of Penny's barb about her mother, and Gerald's - Gerry's - petition. "He said he'd only heard rumours, so I told him, the rumours are pretty much true, and about being excused from the class - did I tell you that?"

Amelia wrinkled her nose. "No… so you're dropping Defence, then? Before the O.W.L.s? No wonder Gerry was upset, you need a Defence O.W.L. for all the interesting jobs."

"I'm not dropping it," Calista said, "My Dad's teaching me, until we get a new professor, anyway."

"Oh, well, that's not so bad, then - I mean, I don't know if  _I_  would want to have more than one class with your Dad, but at least he knows what he's talking about."

"Yeah, it's actually -"

A girlish giggle and a string of chatter interrupted Calista, and its source was quickly revealed, as Olivia Avril came swishing about the corner, with Portia and a gaggle of fourth years at her heels.

"Oh, look," Olivia said snidely, as she approached the entrance to the common room, "It's the Murderer and the Mudblood, together ag-"

This time, Olivia was interrupted, as Calista and Amelia both retorted, nearly in unison.

"Shut it, Avril," Calista commanded coldly, but her words were nearly drowned by Amelia's heated yell of, "Sod off, you bleeding cow!"

Olivia blinked, looking briefly taken aback. She recovered, quickly, and smirked, twirling her wand in her fingers. "Awfully  _bold_ , aren't we, for someone so outnumbered? Let's see, girls, what do we have? Six on two?"

"That does sound right," Calista cut in, coolly; next to her, Amelia paled but stood her ground slipping her hand into her pocket, presumably to grip her own wand. "Six and two. The House points I'll take away, and the detentions you'll serve, respectively, if you even  _think_  about lifting your wands against either one of us -  _afte_ r I destroy you in a duel, of course."

"You wouldn't -" Olivia began, but Calista interrupted her again.

"Dare? Oh, I think you know by now that I very much would. Shall I tell my father to expect you all on Friday afternoon, then? Around four-thirty?"

Olivia narrowed her eyes, but her wand hand stilled. Her eyes darted down the hall, in the direction of the corridors that would lead them to Severus' office, then she yanked the common room door open, and jerked her head, silently ushering her friends inside.

"Bitch," she hissed, as the door closed behind her, but Calista, for once, didn't care at all what Olivia had to say.

"Were you… were you really going to duel  _all_  of them?" Amelia ventured. " _Could_  you?"

Doesn't matter, does it?" Calista replied, "The point is that  _Olivia_  thinks I can, or she's at least afraid I might be able to - and anyway, she's afraid of my Dad and of my Uncle Lucius - threatening her with going to one of them nearly always works."

"Cool," Amelia said, and then she grinned slyly. "You know… if it ever  _didn't_  work, I don't think much of anyone would have a problem with you punching her in the face again."

"No… I expect not," Calista said, with a small smile. "Anyway, I really  _do_  need to get back to my revisions - I'll see you in Arithmancy, all right?"

Amelia nodded, and after they chatted a few minutes more, she left, heading in the direction of Ravenclaw Tower.

It wasn't until Calista stepped back into the Slytherin common room, to a chorus of friendly greetings, that it occurred to her that she hadn't really needed to invoke the threat of her father's wrath, after all…

If she'd wanted to change the odds in her favour, all she'd have had to do was open up the common room door.

Calista smirked, and strode over to an empty sofa to continue studying, without even bothering to check whether Olivia and her cronies were still around.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista was expecting the O.W.L. exams to be unimaginably grueling, and although the practical portion of her Transfiguration exam certainly felt that way, there were others that seemed laughably easy in comparison to her expectations.

She'd practically breezed through the written portion of her Defence exam, even though she'd squeezed vast amounts of tiny, messy handwriting into the available space, elaborating far more on several topics than she supposed was expected. Even given that she had written so much that not a single square centimetre of blank space existed on her parchment, she was still one of the first five or six students to finish. It was lucky that Gerald had clued her in about the Patronus Charm featuring on the exams, as well - there had indeed been a section on it.

She'd considered using the extra time to go over her answers, as she had for her Potions exam, which she'd  _also_  finished early, but since there was no space left to write anymore, she decided in the end that there wasn't much point, and turned her parchment in to the examiner.

She'd filled the parchment again for the written Charms exam, and for Ancient Runes and even, to her immense surprise, Arithmancy. Evidently, the endless hours poring over charts and formulas had managed to penetrate better than she'd thought.

The practical exam for Charms had gone swimmingly; she'd been asked to perform a Levitation Charm, a Colour-Change Charm, and then a Silencing Charm, all on a live mouse. It had begun to skitter away when the examiner had been repositioning it for the final demonstration, and reflexively - for she'd been chasing and freezing mice for her doomed Transfiguration homework for  _far_  longer than she cared to admit - she'd cast a Freezing Charm to stop it. The examiner had been quite impressed with the strength and duration of the charm, and had awarded her extra points for it.

She even thought she'd done quite well with the written portion of her Transfiguration exam - but then, she supposed bitterly that she'd  _better_  do well on that, since she'd spent what felt like thousands of hours in the last five years poring over that particular text.

She could have done the practical portion of her Potions exam in her sleep; they'd had to brew a Calming Draught, and demonstrate the proper way to create various infusions.

She wasn't certain how well she'd done in Herbology or History of Magic; somehow, she never ended up studying for either subject as much as she thought she ought to. Still, she was fairly confident that she'd aced Astronomy as well, in large part due to the crossover material with Arithmancy.

When  _at last_  the exams were done, all two grueling and demanding weeks of them, Calista wanted nothing more than to sleep - but her father had asked her to come to see him as soon as her exams finished, so she dragged herself to his office late Friday afternoon, instead of crawling into her bed like she dearly wished to.

She'd been marginally irritated, mostly due to sheer exhaustion, when she'd first entered his flat, but then she'd smelled coffee, and when she entered his kitchen, the little wooden table was positively loaded with food - sausages and bacon, two different kinds of puddings, toast and French-style croissants.

"Breakfast for dinner?" she asked, interested. It was her favourite meal, after all.

"I thought perhaps you could use a bit of recovery fuel," Severus said, setting a full, steaming mug of coffee at her place. She nodded gratefully, and slid into her customary chair, closing her eyes and savouring a sip of the coffee; he'd made it quite strong, for which she was exceedingly grateful.

She'd barely managed to eat that day, or in fact, on most of the exam days, so she was happy for the large meal, and to Severus' credit, he waited until she'd eaten her fill before asking her any questions.

"So," he said, as soon as she'd set her fork down, "How did your exams go?"

"Most of them went pretty well, I think," she said, "I could Vanish the button all right in Transfiguration, and the pencil - the irony of which is not at all lost on me, let me assure you - but for the live animal demonstration, they had a rat, and I only managed to get rid of its ears and tail."

"How about your Defence exam?"

"I filled the parchment," she said, "Both sides. The - the examiner looked a bit cross, when he saw how small my writing was."

Severus chuckled. "Was it Tofty?"

She nodded.

"I wonder," he said, "If he recalls my own parchment, sixteen years ago, looking precisely the same?"

"We do sort of have similar handwriting," she mused, taking another sip of coffee.

"Well, at any rate," Severus said, "Have you considered which subjects you'd like to take next year, at the N.E.W.T. level?"

"Well, it depends which ones I score high enough on, of course…"

"You'll take Potions," Severus said, "And Defence - that is, as long as Quirrell's gone - otherwise, I'll wangle some way for you to take it with me. I expect you'll want to take Charms, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy as well."

"Hang on," Calista teased, "Are you selecting my classes, or am I?"

"I'm advising," he said, lifting his chin slightly and affecting a superior air. "As your Head of House, of course."

She smiled into her mug; he adopted a more serious expression, and leaned slightly forward.

"Really, though, it depends on what you want to do," he said, earnestly. "Have you given much thought to what you'd like to pursue, career-wise?"

Incredibly, it was a topic they hadn't spoken much about, before. Somehow, other things - Occlumency, Bellatrix's mental warfare, her being assaulted by a professor that he suspected to be an agent of the Dark Lord - had always taken precedence. He thought now that it was something they probably  _should_  discuss; something she deserved, at this point in her life, to spend some time thinking on, just as any of her peers would.

"I thought I was going to taste-test Every Flavour Beans," she teased, "And live with you until I'm thirty."

"Oh, have your plans changed, then? I thought the arrangement was that you would live with me forever."

"Well, if I get sacked from the bean-tasting job…"

He allowed an indulgent smirk; then he shook his head, slightly.

"You don't need to decide right this instant, of course," he said, "But I do advise you to give it some serious thought. You'll have a lot of options, I expect, especially if you can manage to get into N.E.W.T. Transfiguration…"

She snorted. "Don't bet on that."

"Minerva only requires 'Exceeds Expectations' to move on," he said with a hint of a sneer, as if he thought perhaps she was too soft on that point.

"Well, at this point, I think I'll need to be satisfied if I can scrape up a pass at all. And anyway - I'm not even sure if I  _want_  to continue taking it."

"There are a few fields that usually require it," he cautioned, "Certain branches of the Ministry, and a lot of medical careers. Curse-breaking, too."

Calista scowled. "You know, Dad, as I've already taken the exam and there's literally nothing else I can do at this point to improve the outcome, this is is decidedly  _not_ helpful."

She expected him to reply in a similarly spiky manner, but instead, he frowned, and rose. He lifted her coffee mug gently from her fingers, brought it to the worktop, and refilled it, before setting it back down in front of her.

"Well," Severus said after a moment, settling himself back down. "Seeing as I've already annoyed you, I suppose there's no point in delaying this… I've received some… unwelcome news recently that's going to have an effect on your summer…"

"You haven't - they haven't given you the exam scores early, have they?" she asked, anxiously. " _Have_  I failed Transfiguration?"

"No, no, it's nothing like that," he said, and then he sighed. "Calista… I received word from the couple we rent our flat from in the summers. They've sold it, and we won't be able to stay there any longer."

"Oh," she said, frowning. "Well… that's not  _so_  terrible… it will be more difficult for Amelia to visit me here, of course, but - "

"We… can't stay here over the summer either, I'm afraid. No one can. The Headmaster is quite clear on that point."

"So… so we'll rent another flat, then?"

"Well, as it happens… I already own a piece of property, in Cokeworth."

She blinked, and wrinkled her nose. "You do? Since when? And why haven't I ever been there?"

"I… inherited it, from my - family. I've had it for some time now, but it's…"

He looked strained, uncomfortable, perhaps, as he continued. "It's not a very nice address," he finally said, "You… you may not like it. But… if we did move into it, you'd have a larger bedroom than the one at the summer flat, and we'd save money, without paying rent every summer. We could… we could afford more books."

"You're attempting to placate me," she said, shrewdly, "Which means you  _really_  think I won't like it. And you still haven't told me why I've never been there, if you've had it all this time…you didn't… you never lived there with  _her_ , did you?"

Severus snorted. "I can assure you, it is a place that  _she_  has never set foot, and I sincerely doubt she ever would. And, for the record, I never  _lived_  anywhere with her."

She winced; she hadn't  _meant_  to touch a nerve; but then, why was he being so dodgy about it?

"You've never been there," he said, "Because I have certain… associates… that know to find me there. I didn't want them to come looking for me, and find you, when you were in a more… vulnerable state. I decided, you understand, to rent the other flat before you had even  _met_  Lucius and Narcissa… and then, when you were stronger, and it became less of a concern, I just didn't see the  _need_ …"

He sighed, again; Calista wondered if he'd set a record with it, that morning.

"Anyway, I received word about our summer flat three months ago, and I've been looking for something else since then, and I've come up with nothing that's anywhere near the same price range."

"Well," Calista frowned. "Why don't we just move in there, then? The place you already own. You said it's safe, now…"

"Is anything ever really  _safe_?" He countered, drily. "But yes, it should be, reasonably so. Do you… would you like to go see it?"

"Will it get me out of my Occlumency lesson tomorrow if I say yes?" she asked, slyly.

"Absolutely not," Severus said, promptly. "We'll go immediately following it; that's settled, then."

Calista groaned half-heartedly. " _When_ ," she wondered, "Will I finally just get to  _sleep_  on a Saturday, like everyone else?"

"All summer," he promised,and she perked up slightly.

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. I imagine we'll have plenty of time for your lessons during the week, after all."

"No one  _else_  has lessons all summer," she grumbled.

"Yes," Severus agreed, "I suppose I do spoil you."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

_She was taking her exams, only they hadn't given her any ink, so she was just scratching her quill uselessly along the parchment. She raised her hand, tried to explain to the examiner, but he only stared at her as if she'd gone mad, and advised her to hurry up, time was running out._

_Then, suddenly, she heard a knocking on the classroom door, and she just_ knew _, somehow, that it was her father, that he had come to make things right. She got up from her desk, ignoring the examiner who was warning her that she wasn't allowed to get up until she was finished. She reached for the doorknob, but the door was locked; it wouldn't budge._

" _Dad?" she called, through the door, and though she felt the word vibrating in her throat, passing her lips, it didn't make any noise._

_His response was soundless as well, and yet, she felt it, somehow._

' _Wake up.'_

_She frowned. Wake up? But that didn't make any sense, what she needed was ink._

_She felt it again, and this time it vibrated against the edge of her skull, urgently._

' _Wake up, Calista.'_

She started, and her eyes flew open; she  _had_ been dreaming, of course she had… she'd already  _taken_  her exams after all…

She sat up in bed, wondering what time it was. It was always hard to tell, in the dungeons. It figured, that she'd have a nightmare that would wake her up, on a night where she so desperately wanted to sleep soundly. She was so worn out from her exams, and she had a long day with her father tomorrow, beginning with an Occlumency lesson, which was always plenty draining on its own. Compounded with her exam fatigue…

_Calista!_

She felt a sudden soft brush against the outermost of her barriers; not an attempt to breach them, but what felt like a plea for her attention. The psychic signature of it was undoubtedly her father's. And she remembered, suddenly, what had woken her up in the first place - the impression that her father had been on the other side of the classroom door, asking her to wake up.

Hurriedly, she threw her blankets off, slipped out of bed, and grabbed her robes off the floor; she'd been so tired when she'd gone to bed that she hadn't bothered to put them away properly. Stuffing her arms in, and fastening the clasps in the front, she walked to the door, creaked it open, and stuck her head cautiously outside into the corridor.

It was dim and silent in the hall; still, she could  _swear_  she'd felt her father's words at the edge of her mind.

She slipped out of the dormitory room, easing the door shut behind her, and crept along the corridor, to the common room.

It was still quite dim in the common room, and silent as a grave - but not empty. Severus was there, inexplicably, in the middle of it.

As soon as he caught sight of Calista, he strode over to her, and she caught a flash of his expression - worried, anguished, fearful - before she was caught up in his arms.

"Dad?" she whispered, bewildered. "What's wrong? What time is it? What are you  _doing_  here?"

"I'm sorry," he murmured, "I had to be certain you were all right."

"Why wouldn't I be? What - what's going on?"

She was growing alarmed; his tension was palpable, as was his fear, and that put her on edge.

He pulled back, but didn't let go of her; instead, he moved his hands to her shoulders, and his eyes roved over her face; she could hardly see into his in the dark room, but she knew he was distraught.

"Come with me," he said quietly, "I'll - I'll tell you what's happened."

"I - okay… I guess I should get shoes…"

He nodded, and reluctantly lifted his hands from her shoulders. "Go on, then."

She slipped quietly back into her dormitory room, poked her feet into a pair of soft black flats, and went quickly out again. She was still wearing her nightdress underneath her robes, but in light of how shaken her father seemed, she couldn't bring herself to care about that.

When she rejoined him, he ushered her quickly out of the common room, and down the familiar path that led to his office. He let her walk slightly ahead of him, and kept his hand at her shoulder; she noticed that he had drawn his wand, in his other hand.

"What time is it?" she asked him again, as they traversed the deserted corridors.

"Four," he said, and then, on further reflection, "Perhaps half past."

" _Four in the morning?_ " she whispered, incredulously, "If you've woken me up at this hour for an Occlumency lesson…"

Her intended joke fell flat; he only gripped her shoulder more tightly as they reached the door to his office. After he followed her in, he spell-locked the door behind them, and only then, let go of her. She saw him slip his wand back into his pocket. Despite the hour, the torch in his office was lit.

"Dad," she asked, feeling jittery, though she didn't know why, "What's happened?"

He looked her over, for a third time; his expression was grim, and when his voice came, it was grimmer still.

"Quirrell," he said, and Calista frowned with immediate concern.

"He didn't - he didn't attack  _you_ , did he?"

He shook his head.

"I suspected," he said, "That Quirrell was an agent of the Dark Lord..."

"He's working for the  _Dark Lord_? You said he was  _dangerous_ , but - "

Calista felt panic rising in her chest; she'd  _cursed_  Quirrell; Quirrell hated her. How dangerous of an enemy had she made…?

"I had no notion," Severus was saying, tone still fraught with tension, "No bloody  _idea_ …"

"Dad, what  _happened_?" she asked again, urgently. "Is he - is he still angry? He's not - are you afraid he's going to come after me again - ?"

"Quirrell is dead," he said quietly, and Calista shivered, felt her eyes go wide. She hated Quirrell, was frightened of him, especially  _now_  - but  _dead?_

"You didn't -" Calista began.

"I did not kill him," Severus said, flatly. "The Dark Lord did, in a… in a manner of speaking."

" _What?_ But the Dark Lord's  _gone_  - "

"It would appear," he said, almost wretchedly, "That is no longer the case."

"Dad,  _what are you talking about_?"

"He - the Dark Lord - was evidently possessing Quirrell," he said, managing to wrench the words out. "Apparently, he didn't  _trust_  Quirrell to procure the - the artifact on his own, so he came along to supervise."

Calista felt hollow, suddenly, and like she might be violently ill. She felt her limbs weaken and tremble. She had to be hearing this wrong…

"What do you mean,  _possessing_? And what - what artifact?"

"He - his essence, his - I don't know, precisely. Albus - the Headmaster - tells me he was hiding underneath that absurd turban, listening through Quirrell's ears and giving him orders…"

She felt light-headed; Severus seemed to notice just in time, and guided her over to a chair. She shivered violently, wrapping her arms around herself.

"The Headmaster tells me there is no longer an immediate danger in the castle," Severus said, "The st - the artifact - will likely be destroyed, and the Dark Lord has been thwarted for the time being... And Potter… Potter will live."

Calista felt like a hundred questions were swarming her brain; she chose one at random. "Potter? Harry Potter?"

Severus nodded; she thought she saw a peculiar glint in the depths of his eyes - but it was gone before she had a chance to interpret it.

"Apparently, he went after Quirrell in an attempt to prevent him from - getting what he was after. Fool of a boy, nearly got himself killed. Albus evidently returned just in time."

The full realisation of what Severus was telling her sat in her stomach like a stone.

"I dueled  _Voldemort_ ," she said, eyes going round with horror.

"I… I'm going to need you to remember all of the details about that, about all of your interactions with him. I need to know… with any luck, he only wanted to amuse himself by frightening me, to punish me for getting in his way. I'll - I'll need to think how I can play this off, if it ever comes to that…"

"Dad? You said… you said there's no danger in the castle… but you said the Dark Lord isn't gone…"

"He's retreated back into hiding, for now," he said, "But it's only a matter of time before some other fool like Quirrell seeks him out - "

He cut himself off, swept his eyes over Calista.

"I need you to try something," he said, "It won't be easy…"

She looked up, expectantly, eyes black and solemn.

"I need you to show me a version of this conversation," he said, "That makes me look sympathetic to the Dark Lord."

" _What_? Have you gone mad?"

"Calista," he said, and she was startled by the strained, pleading note in his voice, "I need to know if you can do this."

"I can't believe it," she said, attempting a half-hearted joke to cover her anxiety at what he was asking her to do, "You  _did_ wake me up at four-thirty in the morning for an Occlumency lesson..."

"Show me," he said, expression so strained that he appeared to be in pain. He lifted his wand.

" _Legilimens_."

She drained some of the strength away from her first barrier, allowing him to enter. She used the seconds it took him to pass through it to try and tweak some of the threads of the memory.

' _I dueled Voldemort', Calista said, feeling a terrible fear._

' _I'm going to need you to remember all of the details about that,' Severus replied, but his voice was hollow; his image wavered, thin and wispy, like smoke.. 'I need to know if there was some way I could have known it was him'._

"You need to believe it," Severus said, "Before you can make  _me_  believe it."

"Dad, I can't - " Her face was strained with effort.

"Try again. Please."

He  _never_  said 'please' in their lessons… she knew it was important to him, though she was afraid to contemplate why.

She had successfully modified memories in playback before, but those had all been small, inconsequential - like showing a different version of an argument between Kim Avery and her Ravenclaw rival, years ago - and she was finding that this, with its entwined emotions, the heavy lace of fear attached, was immeasurably more difficult to manipulate.

" _Legilimens,"_ he cast, again.

She reached for other memories of her father, other conversations they'd had and other expressions she'd seen on his face, time and again. Perhaps if she could splice one of  _those_  in, she could make it more convincing -

She felt him reaching for the memory; she was out of time.

' _I dueled Voldemort,' Calista said, a heavy feeling in her chest._

' _I'm going to need you to remember all of the details about that,' Severus said. His expression was thoughtful, reflective. 'I need to know if there was some way I could have known it was him'._

' _Dad?' she questioned, looking up at him, 'You said the Dark Lord was gone…'_

' _Yes, gone for now,' Severus hissed, frustration creeping into his features, 'If that boy blows up one more cauldron in my class…'_

"Sorry," Calista said, shaking her head, "I'm trying as hard as I can..."

"I know," Severus said, heavily, letting his wand warm fall to his side. "I suppose… I can't rightly expect you to be capable of this, yet…"

"Wait," Calista said, squaring her shoulders; she couldn't stand the look on his face - it was disappointment and fear all at once, and it felt as heavy as a weight on her. "I want to try… I want to try again."

He flicked his eyes over her, taking in her determined expression, the hard set to her jaw. There was a fierce glint in her eyes. He nodded, and lifted his wand a third time.

' _I dueled Voldemort,' Calista said, a heavy feeling in her chest._

' _I'm going to need you to remember all of the details about that,' Severus said. He was simultaneously tense, pensive. 'I need to know if there was some clue I missed, some way I could have known it was him'._

' _Dad?' she questioned, looking up at him, 'You said the Dark Lord was gone…'_

' _Not gone. Never gone. Only hiding, biding his time…'_

_Severus twisted his face into a sneer. 'Quirrell was weak; a fool. Let us hope the next person to find him can do better…'_

"Yes," Severus breathed, because though it wasn't perfect, though he could still sense traces of his fear in the memory, it was certainly promising.

He made to withdraw, when another memory drifted against him. He hesitated; was it accidental, or one she intended him to see?

_Severus was looking at her with an expression that told her he was going to ask something of her, something difficult._

' _I need you to do something, Calista… it won't be easy…'_

_She looked up at him, saw his eyes harden._

_The image flickered, briefly._

Before him, Calista furrowed her brow with visible effort, and the image came back into focus.

' _I need you to lie, to Dumbledore, if he asks you about this,' Severus said, sternly, with a voice as strong and smooth as silk. 'You cannot tell him that I spoke favourably of someone else going to the Dark Lord's aid.'_

Slowly, Severus withdrew from her mind, lowering his wand. His expression was utterly inscrutable.

"Dad?' Calista ventured, "Was that good?"

"Yes, Calista, it was."

Suddenly, Severus was the one who felt sick. In one action, in one moment, he'd gained a confidante who would almost undoubtedly be able, someday, to keep his secrets… but to do it, he'd had to sacrifice the balance they'd always kept, the one he'd hoped to maintain for years longer.

He was no longer the only one doing the protecting.

"I'm sorry."

She blinked. "For what?"

He made a small noise in his throat, swallowed what felt like a rock that had lodged in it.

"For waking you at this hour," he lied, "You should - you should get some sleep, now."

She nodded, and rose. He saw the uncertainty, the question, in her face, and elected to ignore it for the moment.

"No," he choked out, when he saw that she was reaching for the knob that would take her out into the corridor, and presumably back to her dormitory. "Stay… stay here, all right?"

"I thought you said the danger was gone," she said, but she crossed his office anyway, opened the door to his quarters.

He suppressed a shiver as his thoughts returned, unbidden, to the memory he'd had her falsify.

' _Not gone. Never gone. Only hiding, biding his time…'_


	11. Chapter 11

Hours later, when the eerie, silent darkness of early morning had long since transitioned into the true light of day, when he heard Calista stirring in her room, Severus had a large breakfast sent to his quarters again, but neither of them felt much like eating.

They sat across from each other at the table, each of them managing only to pick at their food. Calista finished two mugs of coffee, but Severus left his cold, untouched.

"So," Calista finally said, "I suppose I can guess what my lesson will entail today…"

Severus couldn't bring himself to raise his eyes from his coffee mug. It had long since cooled too much to produce steam, so the liquid's surface was like the lake; cold, dark, unbroken.

He had not slept at all, after he and the other Heads of Houses had been notified of Quirrell's attempt to steal the stone, sometime in the early hours of the morning, and he dearly felt the weight of exhaustion; still, it was hardly a new burden, for him.

"I don't think," he said at last, "That you need another lesson today; after all, as you said, you already had one, at four-thirty in the morning."

He expected her to make a comment or a joke;  _You're letting me off a lesson?_ He could almost hear her say,  _I didn't know it was my birthday._

Instead, she slipped off her chair, and stepped close to his side.

" _You_  should get some sleep," she said quietly.

"I did," he said, "Though I appreciate your concern, I'm sure."

She frowned, though he couldn't see it; he was still refusing to meet her gaze. "I thought we weren't supposed to lie to each other," she said, and then he saw the tip of her wand tap against the rim of his coffee mug.

" _Calesco,"_  she murmured, and fragrant steam began to rise from the mug again.

The small kindness tugged and twisted at his gut; he felt he didn't deserve it. Did she have any idea what he had really asked her for, in the early hours of the morning?  _He_  had thought of almost nothing else since then; and though the fear that had driven him to do it was still very much living under his skin, he wished he could take his words, his plea to her, back.

"I think you should get dressed," he said, reaching for the mug and snaking his fingers around it; he hadn't realised, until he did so, that his fingers were as cold as death.

"Are we… we're not still going to see your house today?"

"We might as well, if we're possibly to move into it next week."

"But I just assumed - after what  _happened_  - isn't there something you need to do? Ensure… ensure the school is secure, or… or…"

 _Have my Occlumency lesson_ , she thought, but she could see that he was in no state for it.

"The Headmaster assures me that my assistance is not needed, at this juncture," he said, flatly.

 _Not that he'd get it if it were_ , he thought bitterly. He had been angry with Albus ever since he'd dismissed Severus' concerns that having Quirrell remain at the school was putting the students in danger. When 'students' had turned into the Potter boy, his anger had grown spiky with apprehension; when 'students' had turned into Calista, he had felt an old rage, one that hadn't gripped him so forcefully since he'd first seen Calista's memories of Bellatrix's torture.

It was one thing to suspect that what Albus had asked of him had made Calista a target of one of the Dark Lord's followers; but to realise that it had drawn the attention of the Dark Lord himself to her… he'd decided, during his morning's vigil that putting as much distance as possible between himself and the older man, at least for a day, was probably wise.

He realised that Calista was still standing next to him; at last, he glanced up at her, saw concern written plainly on her features.

"Get dressed," he said again, rising from the table. He waved his wand and cleared their uneaten breakfast away. "I'll meet you in the Entrance Hall in fifteen minutes."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

The place that Severus Apparated them to managed to feel gloomy even in the bright May sunshine. There was a river nearby; Calista could first smell it, and then hear it, and then, as they walked, she could finally see it, a dark, windy, chugging thing with bits of litter strewn about its banks.

Beyond its bank, past a crooked railing and a narrow street, rows of terraced houses stood, shadowing the cobbled alleys between them. A tall, narrow chimney rose in the distance, standing silent sentry.

Straggly grass sprung up between the cobbles in many places, and as they passed identical brick building after identical brick building,Calista noticed that many of them had boarded up or even broken windows and appeared to be empty. She would have thought the neighbourhood was quite deserted, if not for the distant, aggrieved barking of a dog, and a passing glimpse of a skinny, steel-haired woman leaning out of a first-floor window to put her wash out to dry on the line.

The house that Severus stopped them in front of was the very last one in a row; beyond it was a rickety fence missing several planks, and beyond that, an overgrown, weedy field. From here, the tall chimney appeared closer; Calista rather had the impression that it had been creeping up on them.

As they stepped up to the front door, Calista felt the tingling warmth of some sort of protective perimeter charm. Severus tapped his wand to the lock and murmured a series of incantations; she recognised them as the same ones that he use to spell-lock the door to his workroom at Hogwarts.

Instead of opening the door right away, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a heavy-looking, medium-sized key. Calista wrinkled her nose questioningly, as he inserted it into the lock and turned; the lock clicked, and only then did he swing the door open. It creaked noisily on its hinges, and opened into darkness.

"A key?" she asked, quietly, because something about this place made her feel that she shouldn't raise her voice. "What's the point? Anything that's locked with a key can be easily unlocked with 'Alohomora' anyw-"

"Not by Muggles," he said, even more quietly than she had spoken; he stood aside, and ushered her into the dark interior.

He pulled the door closed behind them, and pointed his wand seemingly at random towards the ceiling; instantly, the candles in a hanging lamp that Calista had not been able to discern in the dark began to burn, and even though the room was still remarkably dim, she could see her way around it now.

A cluster of old, worn-looking furniture took up much of the floor-space; there was a threadbare armchair, a small, old sofa, and a rickety wooden table. A worn, faded rug covered about half of the floor; the rest of it was composed of long, narrow floorboards that creaked slightly when she walked over them.

Calista barely noticed any of these things, though; what drew her attention was all along all of the walls - for every single one of them was lined with books, rows and rows of thick leather-bound books. It looked the entire room was  _made_  of bookshelves, and when she stepped up to one of the walls, she found that her impression had been correct.

The book-walls paused only for the allowance of a small stone hearth, where a black iron screen guarded a dusty fireplace. There were no pictures on the mantle; instead, more books were piled on top of it. She skimmed some of the titles, hardly knowing where to start. She recognised a few as duplicate titles she had seen in his quarters or his workroom at school, but the vast majority of them were books she had never seen before, and nearly all of them sounded positively intriguing.

Severus crossed the room - it was small enough that he had to brush by her to do so - and tapped his wand to a bookcase near the back corner. It swung inwards, and revealed what looked like a kitchen beyond.

Calista glanced at him, tearing her eyes away from a row of books whose titles were in Latin; she understood it well enough to know there were likely some  _very_  interesting things inside. She wanted to ask if it was all right to take one down and look through it, but Severus rather looked like he was expecting her to follow him into the kitchen, so, reluctantly, she did.

The kitchen was small and cramped as well, though there was some daylight that managed to permeate the dimness in here. A small table with spindly legs stood in the center of the room. There were three chairs, all mismatched, and nothing else in the way of furniture. A candle lamp, identical to the one in the sitting-room, hung from the ceiling. There was also a small stove, an old-fashioned icebox, and a row of cupboards on the wall. A few were missing the door handles, and one was missing doors altogether and was filled, Calista noticed, with yet another stack of books.

There was a small basin with a faucet and above it, and a tiny dirty-looking window that filtered gritty light through. Next to that, there was a door at the back of the kitchen that also had a small window in it. When Calista glanced through it, she could see a cobbled, fenced-in yard beyond.

"We can get a pot for coffee, of course," he said; it was the first time that he had spoken since they'd entered the residence. Calista thought he sounded strained; but then, after the night they'd had, she supposed it was only to be expected.

"Of course," she echoed; she drifted back into the sitting room, drawn back in by the lure of volumes lining the walls. He followed her in, crossed over to the corner by the front door, and tapped his wand again. Another section of the bookshelves swung open, revealing a dark, narrow stair.

" _Lumos_ ," he said, lifting his wand before him; he nodded at her and motioned up the stairs for her to go on ahead of him. She stepped up, rounding a corner after the first four or five steps; once she had done so, the weak light from the sitting-room faded and the only light was that created by his wand.

"There was a window at the top landing, before," he said, as the steps creaked and moaned beneath their feet, "But I changed the layout a bit, after I took the place over… I suppose I should mount a torch along the wall."

The landing at the top was miniscule; there was room for only one person to stand, and there were three doors: one at the left, one at the right, and one straight ahead. The left one was open, and there was enough light, filtered through a darkish curtain, to make out the shapes of a bed and a wardrobe.

"Straight ahead is a bathroom," he told her, "Smaller even than the one in my quarters at the castle, if you can believe it; still, it's better than having to go outside. When I was small we had… we had an outhouse, and a pump in the yard for water."

"You… you lived here when you were small?" she asked, peering into the open doorway; was that his childhood bedroom?

"I did," he said, grimly. He noticed where her gaze had gone. "That was my parents' room. Mine was here, where the bathroom and the attic stair are."

He leaned forward reached his arm around her, carefully, and reached for the knob to the right-hand door, pushing it open. They both stepped inside to a bare, unfinished-looking space. When she stepped across the wooden floor, a flurry of dust kicked up, and she sneezed. A heavy curtain obscured a medium-sized window at the centre of the space; a window at the far end of the back wall was uncovered, but laced with more grime even than the one in the kitchen had been.

"That's the window that used to be at the landing," he said, "But I had to change the walls a bit, when I added the stair, here."

He gestured to a simple staircase that abutted a wall at one side, and was open on the other to the strangely-sized not-quite-room that they were standing in. It was rather the same size as Calista's bedroom in his quarters at Hogwarts, if one discounted the space where the stair rose up - overly small for a room, but a bit large for a closet.

"You can… you can go on up," he said, voice still uncharacteristically thin.

She climbed the stairs dutifully, but paused near the top - they appeared to end at a blank expanse of wall.

"The door is in the ceiling," he said, "There's a latch at the side, and it swings up - I was going to add a proper door, but I never got around to it, once - once I began staying on at school for the summers."

That would have been when he'd found her, and brought her to live at the castle with him. She felt a twinge of guilt, though she knew it hadn't really been her fault that his life had been uprooted.

She climbed to the top, crouching awkwardly, and felt around above her head; her fingers landed on the latch, and she swung the trapdoor upwards. The stairwell filled almost immediately with light, and by it she was able to see well enough to climb easily up into the space beyond.

The room was quite large, and exceptionally well-lit compared to every other room she'd been in; it appeared to occupy the entire footprint of the house, and a row of four skylights was set into the sloped ceiling - even coated with several layers of dust, they let an impressive amount of light into the space. Parts of the ceiling were too low to stand upright, but in the center the ceiling was nearly at full height, and certainly afforded a decent amount of headroom for an attic space.

The room was entirely empty, even the shelves that had been built into the shorter walls, where the ceiling sloped down.

"I'd thought to make this a workroom," Severus said, for he had climbed up into the room as well. "I only got as far as putting in the shelves - but I suppose you'll find them useful."

" _I'll_  find them useful - you don't mean that this will be  _my_  room?"

"That's my intention," he said, "We'll have to furnish it of course. Unless... that is, I'll understand if you'd rather I keep looking for another flat to rent - though at this point, I'm afraid we'll end up here for the beginning of summer, at least."

She blinked, and turned to face him; he looked uncertain and apprehensive, though not in the terribly bottomless, frightening way that he had the night before. This was more… well, she supposed it was a bit how she'd felt, on that Christmas morning, when she'd decorated his flat and hadn't been sure how he'd react.

"Are you mad?" she asked, "This room - this whole place - it's perfect. At least, as long as you'll let me read the books you have downstairs, it is."

She expected him to look relieved, but his expression instead was rather peculiar; she didn't quite have time to decipher it before he nodded, and turned away, back towards the trapdoor entrance to the room. It was in an awkward place, and there wasn't a particularly dignified way to climb down it, but he still managed to make it look fluid, graceful. She scrambled unsteadily out behind him.

"You can read them," he said, his voice echoing off the bare wooden walls as they descended the attic stair, "But don't bring any of them to school."

"I thought you might say that," she said, following him back down to ground level, to the dim sitting-room with all of its books; or perhaps a better way to describe it was a book room with places to sit.

Severus dusted his hand almost absently over the books atop the mantle; a cloud of dust drifted off them, and the tips of his fingers turned dark and gritty.

Calista sneezed again, and crossed to the small front window. She pushed the heavy, dark curtains open, letting more light in. This window, too, was coated with a fine layer of grime.

" _ScourgifyI_ " she said, tapping her wand to the glass, clearing the surface. She glanced over her shoulder at her father, who was standing next to the single armchair, expression unreadable.

"You haven't been here in some time, have you?" she asked.

"Obviously not," he said, but he wasn't looking at her; he was looking at a spot on the worn rug beneath his feet, and then, presently, he was looking at a section of shelving on the wall. A row of brown leather-bound books occupied it; Calista didn't see anything particularly interesting about them.

"I think I'll - I'll go get the kitchen windows, too," she said, slipping past him into the kitchen, wand still drawn.

Severus heard her, but he was barely seeing her; barely noticed when she went into the kitchen.

He had been quite truthful when he'd told her that he'd been unable to find something else affordable for them to rent, and yet he had half-expected her to insist he continue looking, and he'd have been willing to do it. He'd even have considered selling this place, if he thought he'd be able to find a buyer - but what had she called it? Perfect?

He tried to see it as she did, because of course  _she_  couldn't see it the same way he did; why had he expected her to? After all, the memories here were not her own - the ghosts that haunted this place were his alone.

She saw the threadbare rug, a ragged guardian against the cold wooden floorboards in the winter - but she didn't see, couldn't see, the dark stain where whiskey had spilled, when Severus' father, Tobias had passed out, drunk, in the armchair he stood in front of now; couldn't see the cracked plaster behind the bookshelves where nine-year-old Severus had been roughly thrown when Tobias had woken and decided that Severus must have spilled his drink.

He turned, suddenly, and followed her, in three swift strides, into the kitchen. The windows were cleared, and she was aligning the three chairs at even intervals around the old wooden table; she couldn't see his mother Eileen sitting there, at the closest one, sobbing with her palms pressed to her face, in the same tatty, dirty dress she'd worn for three days on end, because she couldn't be bothered to heat water from the pump in the yard to wash it, and Tobias didn't like her using magic in the house.

"You could get lighter-coloured curtains, in the front room," she suggested, looking across at him. "It might make it a bit brighter."

"I don't suppose," Severus said quietly, "That it will make very much of a difference."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Later, when they'd returned the castle, Calista had insisted on staying in Severus' quarters and taking dinner there with him, even though she'd originally planned on meeting Marcus before dinner to go flying; it seemed, suddenly, like that plan had been made years ago, instead of days ago.

Severus had dinner sent up, when he realised she was staying, but he went down to his workroom instead of taking a seat at the table. Calista gave him a few moments, in case he was only checking ingredients that he was ageing, or fetching a book, but when the food grew cold and he had failed to reappear, she followed him down; she knew the spells to the door now like she knew her own name.

She took the stairs silently, and carefully; they were dark all the way down. When she reached the bottom, she lit her wand so she could see.

His back was to her; he had his palms flat on the worktop, and he was facing the rows of jars behind it, head lowered. When the light from her wand seeped into the distant corners of the room, he straightened his back, but did not turn around.

"Go upstairs, Calista," he said, softly; she barely heard it from where she stood by the stair.

"You really ought to eat something," she said, "You didn't eat anything at breakfast, ether…"

"I'll eat later," he said, and she heard a peculiar thickness in his voice as he insisted, again: "Go upstairs."

Instead, she crept closer to him, wand still raised; his eyes must have been closed, because he should have noticed the light from it creeping higher up the walls, but when she stepped up behind him and placed her other hand at his shoulder, he started, and sucked in a breath.

"Calista, go -" he started, and she realised that the strange, thick quality to his voice was the product of barely restrained emotion - she caught a flash of it on his face, a terrible, bone-deep sadness, before he turned his face away.

She set her wand down on the worktop, behind his cauldron so the soft glow of it still lit the room, but the harsh light at its tip wouldn't shine directly in either of their eyes.

"Dad, it's - it's all right. We're both - we're both all right."

" _Go_ ," he hissed, shrugging his shoulder harshly so that her hand was thrown from it. She exhaled, and retreated half a step, uncertain; she had never seen him like this…

His head bowed again, and she realised that, even though she had never seen him this way, she had certainly  _felt_  this way - she was surprised to realise that in that moment, she could read the defensive hiss of his voice, the defeated set of his shoulders as well as if she'd been looking in a mirror.

"I… I hope you know," she said, very quietly, placing her hand at his shoulder again, "That… that I would never think any less of  _you_ , for… for the way you're feeling."

She thought he wouldn't reply; he was silent for over a full minute, but at least he didn't shrug her hand away again.

"Dad?" she prompted, as the silence stretched out.

"I certainly hope," he said, and his voice was suddenly cold, "That you  _would_  think less of me for my actions, past and present."

"What actions would those be?" she asked, taking a step closer so she was beside him now, and turning her head, trying to see his face; he still had it tilted away from her. "Saving my life, over and over again? Trying to protect the school? Teaching me to defend myself so I  _wasn't_  killed by Qu- by…"

"Not those actions," he cut in, largely because he couldn't bear to let her finish that particular thought, "Drawing Quirrell's attention to you; failing to prevent him from attacking you; putting you at risk, every single day of your life, just because of who  _I_  am, what  _I_ have done -"

"You know perfectly well," she said quietly, and her voice shook with emotion, "That  _you_  are not the person - the parent - that endangers me -"

"I'm not?" He did turn his head to face her now, and his expression was terrible; not because of what it contained, but because of what it didn't - it was so perfectly unreadable, so carefully controlled, that she felt as if he'd slammed a door in her face.

"Quirrell attacked you because  _I_ threatened his mission," he yelled, voice echoing off the stone walls and pressing forcefully against her ears; he shrugged again, as if to throw her hand off again, but she tightened her grip, fingers latching onto his sleeve. Once, she'd have been afraid of him speaking to her like this, would have flinched and shrank away from him - but that was before she'd realised how very much they had in common. _"The Dark Lord attacked you because of me._ If he ever manages to return -  _"_

Severus cut himself off, and turned his face away again. "Pick up your wand, Calista," he said, firmly. "And  _go upstairs_."

" _If_  he ever manages to return," Calista said, in a heavy voice, "I'm going to be a target. That's what you were going to say, isn't it?"

"Yes," he hissed, and she saw his fingers clench on the edge of the worktop. "That's what I was going to say."

"Then nothing's changed, really," she said, and he thought that her voice sounded as small, as devastatingly hopeless, as it had the very first time he had heard it, when she was seven years old. "Has it?"

He didn't respond, except to pluck her wand from the worktop and hold it out to her, wordlessly. The tip was still lit, a beacon in the dark room.

"She - she told me, every day, that I - that I would serve the Dark Lord, or I would be - sacrificed, for him. I don't suppose - he doesn't sound like the type to just forget about something he was promised."

Still, he was silent; but she saw the lit end of her wand flicker, as his fingers trembled, very slightly.

"I know you're worried," she said, "Because I had a hard time altering the memories you asked me to show you; but the danger is gone for now, right? We have time - we can practise. I  _can_  do it."

"Calista," he said, and he turned to her, released his clenched grip on the worktop, and lifted her right hand; he pressed her wand back into her hand, closed her fingers around it, and surveyed her with black, unreadable eyes. "I know you can; but you shouldn't have to - I had no right to ask you to."

She blinked, furrowed her brow; her long nose wrinkled. "No right? What do you mean?"

"I'm meant to protect  _you_ ," he said, "I never should have asked you to even attempt to hide things for me…"

"Why not?"

"You're a  _child_."

"I'm sixteen. The same age  _you_ were when you took the Mark."

"Yes," he hissed, "I made a terrible choice, that I'm still paying for - but it's not your debt, and I had no right to make it so -"

"What other choice do you think  _I_ have?" she asked, the pitch of her voice rising frantically, as she stepped closer still; her fingers still gripped the fabric of his robes, at the shoulder. "I can keep your secrets, and have you around to protect me - or I can face  _her_  and the Dark Lord, alone, if she - if she gets out - if  _he_  ever returns. I don't - I don't see a third option."

"I'll always protect you, no matter what," he said, and his voice shook again. His fingers came up suddenly, gripped her chin; though his expression was still carefully blank, his eyes were locked intently on hers. "You don't need to do  _anything_  to ensure that -"

"Don't I?" she asked, "I -"

Suddenly, the room was plunged into darkness; the tip of her wand had one out - the light spell had expired.

"I remember a lot of things that I don't - I don't talk about," her voice came out as little more than a whisper in the darkness; he felt her jaw move through his fingers, felt her fingers tremble at his shoulder, though he couldn't see her, anymore. "I remember the things she told me - I remember what happened to someone who left the Dark Lord's service…"

 _Don't_ , he thought desperately, because he knew what story she was going to tell; but he found that his mouth wouldn't quite work, jaw suddenly locked with tension.

"I don't remember his name," she whispered, fearfully and urgently -

 _William Yaxley_ , he thought, feeling his heart speed up. He'd been friends with him in school; friends with his brother, Andrew.

"But I remember what happened to him, when the Dark Lord learned that he wanted out. He tried to leave - tried to flee the country, to put as much distance between himself and the Dark Lord as possible, but he was caught in a matter of days and dragged back…"

In the darkness, Calista was seeing the memory replay; the cold, manic gleam in her mother's eyes as she leaned over Calista's bedside, the unrestrained glee in her voice; the icy grip of her fingers around Calista's wrist, forcing her to stay close, forcing her to hear the tale.

" _She_  dragged him back," Calista continued, "Her and - and someone else -"

 _His own brother_ , Severus thought; he was seeing a memory replaying, too, and it was even more vivid, more chilling, than Calista's.

"They tortured him," she said, "Took turns casting the Cruciatus curse - practise, she said - until he begged them for death…"

_His eyes were bulging; sweat and tears mingled with blood on his face - he'd bitten down on his tongue at some point. 'P-pl-pleaasssee,' he'd groveled, voice breaking, 'D-drew, p-pl…. Kill me… end -'_

_Andrew had looked questioningly at the Dark Lord; Voldemort had smiled, a little hiss of cold laughter rising into the night sky._

"'But a quick, simple death is too merciful'," Calista quoted; shuddery breaths punctuated the tale now - she remembered the hideous glint of Bellatrix's teeth gnashing eagerly as she retold the story; felt, anew, the deep ache in her wrist as her mother squeezed it hard enough to leave a bruise that would last weeks. "He - the Dark Lord - said that he was curious to see what a traitor was made of, inside - and he used a spell that peeled the man's skin off, layer by layer -"

_Strangled cries and oozing blood; inhuman shrieks. Severus was retching, and he wasn't the only one - still, he knew better than to leave, to interfere -_

' _All right, Andrew,' the Dark Lord said at last, when William had been reduced to little more than a whimpering pile of flesh and bone, 'My curiosity is satisfied; you can kill him now.'_

_Andrew flicked his wrist; there was dried vomit on his chin, and a horrid emptiness in his eyes. 'Avada Kedavra'._

_At last, silence._

"And if you think -" Calista was whispering; he felt a warm drop slide from her cheek to his fingers, where he had forgotten that he still cupped her chin, "If you think I'm going to let that happen to you -"

His fingers were suddenly gripping only air, and the clutching pressure at his shoulder was released; a second later, her arms were tightly around him, and he felt the sharp angle of her chin jutting into the hollow at the top of his shoulder.

"I hope he never comes back," she murmured, softly but forcefully by his ear, "But if he  _does -_ he can't find out that you've left him - please, promise me -"

"I… I promise to do everything in my power to keep him from coming back," Severus managed to whisper; Calista squeezed him, briefly, harder.

"And  _I_  promise to make sure none of  _them_  ever find out you said that," she said.

"I don't want you to-" Severus began.

"I'm not promising you, then," she said, voice small again, "I'm promising myself."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

On Sunday, too, Calista stayed with her father - and on Sunday, she was able to coax him to eat, and to engage in a practical conversation about the things they would need to do to get his house ready for them to move into. She had offered to help dust and clean, and she'd suggested taking the bed and wardrobe from her room in his quarters, but he'd balked at that suggestion, and said he'd purchase new ones.

He'd mentioned getting her a copy of the key too, which still struck her as odd, but then, she'd never lived in a Muggle house before; even though their summer flat was in a neighbourhood where a lot of them lived, the flat had been owned by a wizarding couple.

She thought, apprehensively, of the stove at Amelia's house, the one that her friend had called  _eclectric_ , or something like that; she hoped the one at her father's house was easier to operate. At least there were proper lights, that could be turned on with a wand, rather than those ridiculous wall switches Amelia had.

In the afternoon, they'd gone down to his workroom and she'd helped him brew a variety of antidotes for the hospital wing. She'd been carefully counting out mistletoe berries when she'd felt a testing swipe at her barriers; and for once, instead of being annoyed, she'd felt awash with relief, because it was precisely what she expected from him, and she'd been missing the expected in the last few days.

Over dinner, he asked her how her runes research was going, and she was happy to launch into an explanation of her latest research, of the books that she and Gerald were lending to each other, to help with their respective studies - she was relieved to speak with him about something  _normal_ , though she could still sense that he was somewhat distracted.

"Oh," Calista said, in an effort to cheer him up, "Gerald told me that he likes you as a teacher by the way - he said he thinks you helped him get an Outstanding on his O.W.L. last year."

" _Likes_  me?" he groused, "Evidently I need to start assigning more homework."

"Ah, well, he did complain a bit about all the essays," she admitted, hiding a small smile; that had  _almost_  been sarcasm - surely that was a good sign.

She considered telling him what Amelia had told her, about the petition Gerald had started to get Quirrell sacked, but she decided against bringing up  _anything_  having to do with Quirrell, after the weekend they'd had.

Instead, she just told him that she was getting along with Amelia and Gerald again. She didn't mention Penny or Percy, and he didn't ask.

Just as they were finishing their dinner, there was a distant knock; Calista tilted her head. It sounded like it had come from the direction of the entrance to his quarters, but it wasn't quite loud enough for that. His office, then, perhaps.

Severus was already up, striding down the corridor; she had half-expected him to mutter about students and dungbombs, but then she remembered that the  _last_  time someone had come knocking at his door, it had evidently been to tell him that Lord Voldemort was in the castle. She slipped out of her chair and followed him into his office, just as he was opening the outer door warily.

It was the Headmaster; he looked tired, but he still offered a weak smile when Severus answered the door - perhaps it was meant to be reassuring.

"Severus," the older man said, "I hope I haven't interrupted your dinner, but I would like a word with you, before the weekend is up. I came calling yesterday, but I understand you were unavailable."

"I was out of the castle," he confirmed, shortly.

"Ah, Miss Snape," the Headmaster said, vivid blue eyes catching sight of her as she materialised at her father's shoulder, "I did hope to find you here as well. A few of your friends have come in search of me, hoping I might have seen you - I suppose next time I can truthfully tell them I have, though I rather suspect they'd prefer to see you for themselves."

Calista looked questioningly at her father; she would stay, if he wanted her to. Severus stepped aside, and gestured towards the door.

"Go on," he told her, "It's time you returned to your common room, anyway."

"Quite right," the Headmaster agreed; she thought she caught a faint twitch somewhere behind his silvery beard, but that could have been her imagination - after all, she hardly knew the man. "Though I daresay if you want to reassure all of your friends, perhaps you should stop by the Great Hall before dinner ends."

She'd already eaten, and since she knew that the Great Hall would already be filled at this time, she didn't relish the prospect of entering late - what if people stared? What if the whispers started again, the way they'd gone on in the immediate aftermath of her duel with Quirrell?

She hesitated in the corridor outside of the Great Hall, debating whether to go in, or to retreat quietly back to the dungeons - but someone else decided for her - one of the heavy doors swung open, and she could hear a familiar voice, raised authoritatively.

"-saying is, if we  _all_  go together, he'll have to hear us out," Gerald was saying, "We have a right to know if our friend is in the -"

He stopped short as he stepped into the corridor, and saw Calista standing uncertainly in the middle of it; someone behind him made a squeaky little  _oomph_  sound as she crashed into him; and then, suddenly, Calista was swarmed. Someone was hugging her, and several someones were chattering at her, all at once.

" _Calista!_ " Amelia squealed; she was the one whose arms were around her, squeezing tightly. "You  _are_  all right!"

"No one would tell us," Gerald said, over Amelia's head, "We heard Harry Potter was in the hospital wing, but no one could say if you were - and no one had seen you since Friday."

"Not even any of the Slytherins," Penny put in, nervously, "Amelia went to ask."

Amelia was nodding vigorously, but Calista was still looking at Penny, and at the taller, read-headed figure behind her.

"I asked your little cousin, and Marcus," she said, "Neither of them knew where you were - your cousin's a bit of an arsehole, by the way -"

"We - we're all very glad you're all right," Percy said, quietly and nervously; if she hadn't been looking at him, she might not have realised he was speaking over the chatter of other voices.

"What changed your mind, then?" she asked him, in a similarly soft voice, but without the nerves.

"Well, once we heard - everyone's saying that Quirrell tried to kill Harry Potter - and you know, once we all realised that you'd disappeared, and we knew you'd dueled him before… we thought… we were worried…"

"I think what Percy is trying to say," Penny said, hesitantly, "Is that we - Percy and I - we're…"

"Sorry for being complete prats?" Amelia supplied helpfully, finally loosing her grip on Calista, to look round expectantly at her friends.

Penny nodded, and Percy flushed, frowning. "We're… we're sorry we didn't believe you," Penny finally finished.

Calista opened her mouth, not even sure precisely what she would say; she was glad the apology was finally coming, but it felt late - and she could still imagine the echo of the words she knew Penny had said, about being like her mother, and it hurt - but before she had a chance to say anything, there was a chorus of squeals, and suddenly she was crowded and swarmed yet again.

" _Calista!"_

She flinched, and started involuntarily, as a horde of Slytherin girls streamed out of the Great Hall and integrated themselves into the smaller circle surrounding her; more than one pair of arms encircled her this time, and she found herself retreating nervously backwards.

"Where have you  _been_?" Sofia demanded; she was one of the ones that had latched onto her, but she loosened her grip when Calista stepped back.

"They say there was another troll," Eva said, eagerly, "Did you fight it?"

"Nevermind  _that_ ," Daisy said, tugging at Calista's hand, "You're not hurt, are you? Olivia - Olivia's been telling people you died, but no one believes that stupid old cow…"

"I - erm, I'm fine," Calista managed; she stepped backwards again, until she could feel her back press against the stone wall of the corridor, but  _that_  wasn't particularly reassuring, either. "I wasn't - uhm, nothing happened to me, really."

"Someone said -"

"Is it true that -"

"Excuse me!" Gerald's best Prefect voice cut over the growing noise. "Everyone, kindly take a step  _back_. That's an order."

There; now Calista felt a bit more like she could breathe. She aimed a grateful look at him, and he nodded, solemnly.

"I'm fine," she repeated, to all of them, "I just - I went somewhere with my Dad."

Most of them looked relieved; she thought a few of her friends, namely Eva and Amelia, looked slightly disappointed that she didn't have a better story to tell.

"Well," Sofia said, after a minute, "You'd better go in and tell Marcus you're all right. He tried going to your dad's office a few times yesterday, but no one would answer…"

"Yeah," Calista nodded; she felt guilty, realising that she'd never told him she was cancelling their plans to go flying yesterday. "Is he in the Great Hall?"

Sofia nodded, and a few of her friends stepped aside, to let her through - some more students were streaming out of the Great Hall now, and a few of them glanced at her curiously, but no one else, to her relief, swarmed her.

"Hey," Eva called after her, "We'll be in the common room, all right? We're - Sofia and I - we were going to decorate it yesterday, since it looks like we've won the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup. No one felt like it when Olivia was spouting off that you'd died, even though we all knew it was rubbish… but now that you're all right, we might as well."

Calista nodded, but she wasn't really listening; she slipped into the Great Hall, and looked over at the Slytherin table. Marcus was facing away from the door, talking to Derek Logan; at first she thought that no one at the table saw her come in, but then she saw Olivia's face turned in her direction - saw her eyes narrow themselves into slits - and then saw her turn, stonily away again.

Calista rolled her eyes, and approached the long table. Enough students had left now that there was a seat next to Marcus, so she settled herself into it. Derek saw her first; he poked Marcus in the shoulder, and jerked his head in her direction. He turned, and his grey eyes widened.

"Calista! You're all right - where the hell have you  _been_?"

"I'm fine," she said, quietly, "I went somewhere with my Dad yesterday… we were gone most of the day. And then after that -"

"Wait a minute," Marcus said, frowning. "You mean you weren't - you weren't in danger, then? Or in the hospital wing?"

"Well… no."

He looked torn between relief and irritation; she winced, surprised to see the latter on his face.

"We were supposed to go flying yesterday," he pointed out, "And people were saying all kinds of things - that one over there was saying you were  _dead_  -"

"So I've heard," Calista muttered, as he jerked his thumb in Olivia's direction.

"Knew that was a load of dung," he said, "But I was afraid - I mean, you  _disappeared_ , and your Dad, too - I was sure something bad was up…"

She shook her head. "Not - I mean, nothing new. It was just, he was worried, because - because Quirrell -" She realised she probably wasn't supposed to tell anyone that Quirrell had been being possessed by Voldemort.

"Yeah," Marcus cut in, sparing her from having to finish her sentence, "We all heard, Quirrell attacked another student, a first year. Nearly killed the kid, everyone's saying. Still in the hospital wing. And then  _you_  were gone…"

He exhaled. "Gone with your dad," he repeated. She nodded.

"I'm… I'm sorry I forgot to tell you, about missing flying. It was just…"

"I went to your dad's office  _three times_ yesterday," Marcus said, "No one ever answered the door."

"Yeah, we - we left the castle -"

"All night? I went after dinner, too."

Well; they had been  _back_  by then, but they would have been downstairs in his workroom - she shivered, remembering the heavy darkness of their conversation there.

"Yes, I guess all night then, too," she managed, because Marcus looked like he was expecting an answer.

"When did you get back, then?"

"Last night. Well - back to the castle, but I was still - I mean, I haven't been back to the common room yet…"

He furrowed his brow.

"Well, when did you leave?"

"Saturday morning."

"So.. so you  _were_ here at some point on Saturday, and you've been back at least the whole day today, but you never thought to tell me you were okay, let alone that you weren't going to meet me when you promised?"

"No, I guess I didn't. I'm sorry -"

Marcus huffed, and stood up.

"Marcus, wait -"

"No, it's fine," he said, "I'm sure you have better things to do than explain to me, right?"

"Marcus," she said again, pleadingly; she started to follow him. "You don't understand - my dad -"

He whirled around, and scowled at her. "He's not the only one that cares about you, Calista."

"I  _know_  that," she said, looking up at him, "And I told you, I'm sorry - no one  _else_  is cross with me about it, you know -"

But that, evidently, had been precisely the wrong thing to say; a look of hurt, and then of anger, crossed Marcus' face.

"So you told  _them_  you were back, then," he said, "All your  _Arithmancy friends_ , I suppose?"

"Well, I saw them first!" she said, "In the corridor -"

"Forget it," he said, shaking his head. "Like I said - I'm sure you have better things to do than explain to me."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

They had a few days of freedom, now that classes had ended, but it hardly felt like freedom to Calista when she was waiting on her most important exam scores to date. Still, when Amelia suggested they go and sit by the lake on Monday afternoon, she agreed that it sounded like a good idea.

Besides, she thought she'd rather be  _anywhere_  but the Slytherin common room - Marcus kept looking at her, with something between resentment and hurt, and she wasn't sure if she was supposed to say something to him, or just give him time to cool off.

It had been surprisingly awkward, sitting by the edge of the lake with Penny, Percy, and Amelia, and she wasn't sure, really, whose fault it was. She thought that Penny and Percy were still a bit on eggshells around her - but then, she couldn't stop remembering the way their faces at looked, that day back in Hogsmeade, when she'd gone to sit with them and they had invited someone else in her place.

And  _that_  brought to mind another Hogsmeade weekend… the one where she'd told them exactly who her mother was… and that brought her back to thinking about what Amelia had told her that Penny had said, and she ended up telling them she was tired and wanted to head back to the castle early. Amelia had offered to go with her, but Calista had told her it wasn't necessary; she used the solitary walk around the lake to think about the events of the last three days - but not the dark parts. She had thought enough about those, for the time being.

She turned things over, and eventually, she landed back at the memory of Marcus' reaction last night. He hadn't been entirely fair, she thought - but then, neither had she. He couldn't understand why she hadn't come back after she and her father had returned to the castle, and she couldn't really  _tell_  them why she'd been reluctant to leave her father - but then, she really ought to have looked for him Saturday morning when she'd gone back to her dormitory to get dressed, knowing that she wasn't going to be at the castle that afternoon to go flying with him.

She was nearly at the castle, but instead of heading inside, she turned in another direction. It was a rare free day, and the weather was beautiful; she had a feeling she knew where she could find Marcus.

He was at the Quidditch pitch, but he wasn't alone. Three or four of his teammates flew around as well, though it didn't look like they were practising per se; more like they were just having fun. She stood unnoticed at the edge of the pitch for a minute, watching them - she would never understand how they could weave and loop like that, so fearlessly - and then one of the boys spotted her.

"Hey, Flint! Your girlfriend's here!"

He was at the far end of the pitch; he completed his circle, and flew over, hovering in the air in front of her.

"Hey," he said, looking her over. She saw him make some sort of decision; his jaw relaxed, and he nodded slightly. "D'you want to come up?"

"I can't. I'm wearing a skirt."

He glanced down, and for a moment, he looked confused, as if she'd just told him she couldn't go flying because her hair was black. Then, his expression cleared, and he nodded.

"Right. Well… I want to fly around for a bit more, so…"

"That's fine. I'll - I'll stay and watch for a while."

He smiled warily. "Reckon you'll still be here when I'm done? Or do you have to go to the library again?"

"I'll stay."

He flew around for a little more than an hour. True to her word, Calista stayed, though her thoughts did wander. She started to think of where she'd left off with her research - wondered if she'd compiled enough of it yet to actually start trying to cast any of the spells she'd been researching wandlessly. She supposed she'd better do it with someone else around, her father or one of her friends - Amelia, maybe, or Gerald - in case something went wrong.

She ought to start with a charm, she supposed - perhaps an unlocking charm, since she'd been gathering related runes and rituals for years - but the problem was, there were so  _many_  different runes and rituals that could ostensibly have something to do with guarding a secret, or barring entrance from an area - and then again, the concept of locks was relatively new, so maybe none of them would even translate directly enough to work…and that was the reason that she  _hadn't_ tried the spells wandlessly yet, wasn't it? She was afraid she wouldn't be able to get it to work, and then what?

Maybe there was a better spell she could experiment with...she wished she'd thought to bring a book with her for ideas, or even a scrap of parchment and a quill.

Finally, Marcus touched down on the ground, and came over to her. He leaned his broomstick against the wall of the stands, and slid into the seat next to her. He looked up, watching his friends, who were still zipping around overhead.

"Shame Terence is graduating," he said, "D'you see how fast he is?"

She looked up obediently. "Mm," she said, but she didn't really see the difference; they all looked like they were fast, to her.

"I hope your cousin's good," he said, "Ever seen him fly?"

"Only on a toy broomstick," Calista said, "But honestly - I'm not sure if I can even tell the difference between a good flyer and one who's not good."

"Well," Marcus grinned, " _I'm_  good. You know that."

"Yeah." She looked at him sideways, offered a small smile. "I know that."

"Well, anyway, you can take Apparition next year, and then I guess you'll never need to fly anywhere again. That's what you've been looking forward to, right?"

"Yeah. I mean, I don't fly anywhere now, really - but it will be nice to be able to Apparate, for sure."

"I don't really like it," Marcus admitted, "Makes me feel a bit queasy; but it used to do that to me when I was small, too, when my parents would Apparate me somewhere."

"It doesn't bother me. Well - except the fear I might end up Splinched, I suppose."

"Yeah," Marcus shuddered a little. "That's another reason I don't like it."

"So," Calista said, after a minute had passed, "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you I wasn't going to be able to meet you on Saturday."

"Yeah." He sighed, and glanced at her, before looking back up at the circling figures above. "Thing is, though, you kind of do that to me all the time… and you said you were sorry before, but nothing really changed."

"That's not true. I went to a whole bunch of your practises -"

"For a bit," he said, "And then you forgot again. And anyway, maybe I shouldn't be making you come, if you don't want to…"

"I want to."

He chuckled, darkly. "No, you don't. And I don't want to go to the library with you. I mean, well, not to study, anyway."

"I guess… I guess we do like to do different things," she said, cautiously; it was a thought that had occurred to her several times, over the course of this school year in particular.

"It's funny," he said, "I was wondering, the other day, if we even would have been friends, if I didn't fancy you. I mean, I didn't realise I did at first, but…"

"Of course we would have been friends," she said, wounded. "You were - you've always been nice to me, for one."

"Yeah," he said, "'Cause I fancied you."

"Come on," she said, "That can't be the only reason you were nice to me…"

Except, when she thought about it, had she ever really seen him go out of his way to be nice to anyone  _besides_  her? He got on all right with most of the Slytherins, and he and Amelia sort of tolerated each other on Calista's behalf, but now that she was thinking of it, he had definitely always been far kinder to her than she'd seen him be towards anyone else.

"I dunno," Marcus shrugged. "I mean, it's all right, I guess, it's just kind of funny."

"So, then," she ventured, and she forced her words to come out carefully, evenly. "What are you saying - that we shouldn't be together, anymore?"

She felt something strange, something she was afraid to identify, in the pit of her stomach when she said the words. She decided not to analyse it until after he responded.

"Huh? That's not what I'm saying at all," he said, sounding horrified. "I mean - fuck, Calista, I still want - I still fancy you. I just meant… maybe it's stupid for us to keep trying to do stuff we don't like just to try and make the other one happy - I mean, obviously, it's not working."

"I don't - I don't understand," she said, "Isn't that… isn't that the point of dating someone? To do things together?"

"Well, uh, yeah, I guess, but… maybe different things, is all. I mean, there's some stuff we definitely both like doing…"

She looked up at him - was he saying what she  _thought_  he was-? He was grinning, suggestively. Oh, yes, he definitely was. She felt herself blush.

"Yeah, exactly," he said. "And we - we can still go to the Three Broomsticks, and Zonko's, and stuff like that, stuff we both like, but… let's face it, you're obviously never going to like Quidditch the way I do, and I'm never going to voluntarily read a book that  _isn't_  about Quidditch."

"They write books about Quidditch?" she wondered. What could they possibly say that anyone would care about?

"Uh, yeah, of course. Anyway… I'm not gonna lie, I hate the idea that you don't want to come to practise and stuff, you know, to support me, but I guess I kind of realised me not wanting to really study with you or… or go off to the library, or hang out with your boring Prefect Arithmancy friends or whatever… probably makes you feel the same way."

"I… well, maybe a bit," she admitted, though if she were being perfectly honest, the only part of that she found truly bothersome was that he couldn't seem to get along with her friends.

"My mum and dad have pretty much nothing in common," Marcus said, "I mean, except me. My dad's like me, he likes Quidditch and he pretty much hated school. I think he has maybe two different sets of robes, and they're both the same colour. But my mum got seven O.W.L.s and she changes her outfit at least three times a day and is always talking about… about hair, and things. For some reason."

Calista chuckled a little. "She sounds like my Aunt Narcissa."

"Yeah, Mum was talking about your aunt's robes for like, a hundred years after we got home from dinner that time. Dad and I had to turn the wireless on to a repeat of the last Chudley Cannons match to get her to stop nattering on. But anyway, see, what I'm saying is, they're both different, my parents, but they're pretty happy together. So… so you and me can still be together, and we don't have to like all the same things, right?"

"I suppose that makes sense…"

"Good," Marcus said, pleased. "Now… now there's just one more thing, before I drag you off somewhere to snog until dinnertime."

"Uhm. What's - what's that?"

"If you ever disappear like that again without telling me, I'm gonna start ripping pages out of your favourite books - 'cause that's how you made me feel, and it was a pretty shite thing to do."

"You can't -" she said, immediately panicked. "I love my books -"

"Yeah.  _Exactly_."

She looked at him, eyes going wide. Had he just said - ?

His face was flushed now; he ducked his head, lowering his eyes. She wondered if it was on purpose, if he'd suddenly remembered that she could read his thoughts there, sometimes.

"That's enough talking, now," he said, rising from the stands and reaching for her hand, tugging her along. "Let's go make out by that spot at the lake where no one can see you from the castle..."

"I was at the lake earlier," she said, "There were some third-years hanging out there, playing Exploding Snap…"

He snorted. "They'll leave. I'm bigger than them."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista had tried not to be resentful, at the end-of-term feast, when Dumbledore had stolen the House Cup glory away from Slytherin, to have them tie with Gryffindor; but it was very difficult not to.

After all, Slytherin had been quite far in the lead for some time now, but Potter and his friends were being given a ludicrous number of House Points, for what? For facing Quirrell - for facing the Dark Lord?  _She_  had done precisely the same thing, earlier in the year, and Dumbledore certainly wasn't giving her any House Points...

Or was he? He raised his hand again, and the Hall fell silent.

"There are all kinds of courage," he said, "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

 _Longbottom_.

Calista forgot all about being angry about the number of points he was awarding to Gryffindor; barely noticed the cries of outrage from her own House table, and the triumphant yells from the Gryffindor table.

She scanned the table, looking for the boy whose name Dumbledore had just called. It had to be - it wasn't a common name. How had she not even realised that the Longbottoms had a child, that he was _here_ , at Hogwarts? She must have been so distracted, at the Sorting feast, by waiting for Draco's name to be called…

What would someone else who had had their childhood stolen by Bellatrix  _look_  like? Would they be as haunted and broken as she knew she had been, when she was small? Would they be angry, defiant, lonely? Would they - would they, too, flinch when someone came at them suddenly, or touched them unexpectedly? But then, if he was a first year, he probably wouldn't even remember...

She realised that he must be somewhere at the core of the group of Gryffindors that was hugging joyfully as Dumbledore clapped his hands, and changed the decorations from green and silver to red and gold. Then, not lonely, at least.

"It's not  _fair_ ," Draco was saying; Calista realised he was talking to her, leaning across the table, looking utterly shocked. "I - I  _earned_  a lot of those Points. We  _all_  did. Potter… stupid Potter gets  _everything_!"

She tore her eyes away from the Gryffindors, and met her cousin's eyes.

"I know, Draco. It's not fair."

" _You_  fought Quirrell, too, and  _we_  didn't get any points."

"Well, I used Dark magic," Calista said, and a trace of bitterness crept into her voice. "I suppose that means it doesn't count, to Dumbledore."

"I hate him," Draco whined, "Stupid Potter with his  _stupid_  friends and his  _stupid_ broomstick -"

"Hey," Calista said, "Marcus is putting you on the team next year, did you know that? He says - he says you're going to be the new Seeker."

"Well… well, he'd better, or Father will take all those brooms off deposit," he said, but Calista thought he looked at least a little bit mollified.

"And anyway," Calista said, glancing sidelong at Marcus, who looked positively furious. She raised her voice, so he would hear her, too. "We've still got the Quidditch Cup at least."

She thought Marcus looked a little happier, too, when she pointed that out.


End file.
